# Lamps and Paths * 




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Lamps and Paths. 



BV ^ 

THEODORE T. MUNGER, 

AUTHOR OF " ON THE THRESHOLD." 



"God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, 
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty." 

Richard III., ii. 2. 




BOSTON-/. 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN, AND COMPANY. 

New York: ii East Seventeenth Street. 

£t)e j&tbersitre JSress, Camfrcftrse, 

1885. 






H 



Copyright, 1883 and 1884, 
By Theodore T. Munger. 



The Library 

of Congress 



WASHINGTON 






DeHtcateD 

TO 

MARY WILLIS MUNGER 

AND 

THORNTON TAFT MUNGER. 



PREFACE. 



We have a custom in- North Adams of devoting a 
Sunday in June, each year, to a special service for the 
children of the Congregation. It is made a Festival 
of Flowers. All the beauty of leaf and blossom that 
can be won from garden and mountain-side — roses 
and larches, lilies of the field and laurel from the 
pastures, palms from the south and violets from the 
meadow, woven emblems of love and hope, and ten- 
der memorials of children gathered to the heavenly 
fold — are brought into the church and piled about 
the pulpit and chancel with a profusion that has 
no limit except room to contain it. It is a feast of 
tabernacles, — a carnival of floral beauty. But while 
considering the lilies, we also strive to tell the chil- 
dren the lesson they teach; and hence these brief and 
simple sermons preached as the occasion recurs. My 
present object is chiefly to secure a more enduring 
memory of them in the minds of those to whom they 
were addressed ; but it is possible that they may 
serve a somewhat wider use. 



VI PREFACE. 

While the story is the main medium for conveying 
moral truth to the mind of a child, there is still room 
for more systematic instruction ; and it is not well to 
omit this in the Christian education of children. It 
is hardly expected that many children will of them- 
selves find their way through these pages, but under 
the guidance of parents they may, perhaps, receive 
from them a direct impression of duty such as the 
story does not always yield. If so, the little book 
will not be in vain. 

I have joined to these discourses for children a 
Pastoral Address made to a large number of young 
persons who entered into the Church in March, 1883; 
and as the book is likely to fall into the hands of 
parents, and is, indeed, designed for the household, I 
have added a discourse on the Home in its Relation 
to Character, — believing that these additions will 
secure for the volume a more thorough unity. 

No effort has been made to take out local color and 
allusion, either of place or occasion. All Berkshire 
is a poem of natural beauty, and it is kinder to offer 
it to the world than to hide it. 

T. T. M. 



NOTE ON THE SECOND EDITION. 



THE second edition of this book is published with 
an addition of four chapters, in the hope that in this 
form it may be regarded as a fit prelude to "On THE 
Threshold," — a work designed for an older class 
of readers. 

T. T. M. 

North Adams, November, 1884. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

I. The Desert 13 

II. Lamps and Paths 31 

III. The Story of a Cup of Water .... 49 

IV. The Story of the Book 69 

V. Four Jewels 89 

VI. The Good, the Better, the Best . . . 109 

VII. The Parting of the Ways 123 

VIII. One Voice, but Two Meanings 143 

IX. Light and Eyes 157 

X. A Little Maid 173 

XL Vows Assumed 189 

XII. Home and Character 205 



1878. 

THE DESERT. 



Oh, holy Sabbath bells ! 

Ye have a pleasant voice ! 

Through all the land your music swells, 

And man with one commandment tells 

To rest and to rejoice. 

As thirsty travellers sing, 
Through desert paths that pass, 
To hear the welcome waters spring, 
And see, beyond the spray they fling, 
Tall trees and waving grass, — 

So we rejoice to know 

Your melody begun ; 

For when our paths are parched below, 

Ye tell us where green pastures glow 

And living waters run. 

George MacDonald. 



I. 

THE DESERT. 

44 Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I" 
Psalm lxi. 2. 




HE first thing to do in a sermon 
is to explain the text, if it needs 
explanation, — as most texts do. 

If you were to think of these 
words for a moment, I presume 
you would find yourself wondering why David, 
who wrote the Psalm, wanted to be led to a 
rock; and then why he wanted a rock higher 
than himself. 

If he had lived here in Berkshire he would 
not need to have gone far ; and he might easily 
have found many higher than his head. But it 
is not so everywhere. In central New York — 
where I spent my childhood — there are no 
rocks worthy of the name, and it was not till I 
was a large lad that I saw one half as high as 
my head. I remember one about as high as a 



14 THE DESERT. 



table, upon which the little lambs used to jump 
in play ; and it was the largest in all the country 
about. But then we felt no need of rocks, as 
David seemed to have felt. Indeed, we were 
rather better off without them ; and all the 
farmers about here will tell you that they wish 
they had fewer instead of so many. But for 
some reason, David prayed to be led to a great 
rock. 

Now, to understand this we must take a long 
journey, a quarter of the way eastward around 
the earth, — to Syria and the great desert re- 
gions southward in Arabia, and farther east 
beyond the Jordan. Although David lived at 
Jerusalem when he wrote the Psalm, he had 
made long journeys and lived many months 
near these desert regions. When he was a 
young man, at one time he lived in a cave 
called Adullam, in a place where there were no 
houses nor trees. And afterward, when he was 
a king, he marched through deserts with his 
armies. And when he was a boy, and tended 
sheep, I presume he often had to lead the flock 
across desert places to find good pasturage. 
Now, there is no place where men travel that 



THE DESERT. I 5 



is so hard and painful as a desert, — it is worse 
than arctic ice or tropical forests. In arctic 
regions exercise keeps one warm, and in the 
tropics the trees afford shade, and there are 
many beautiful and interesting things to en- 
gage the attention. But in the desert there is 
almost everything to make travelling uncom- 
fortable, and nothing to make it pleasant. 
Deserts are very warm places. The sun shines 
fiercely, and the sand becomes hot. There is 
no cool, green grass ; there are no trees for 
shade, — only a great wide stretch of sandy 
waste. Sometimes the ground is rough and 
flinty, but oftener it is just a level stretch of 
sand. Think how 7 desolate and tiresome it 
must be, — no trees, no grass nor flowers, nor 
ferns nor mosses; no rivers nor brooks; no 
hills, no houses, no roads even, but just the 
level sand below and the blue sky above, filled 
with dazzling and burning light ! Not a very 
nice place to be in, you see. Yet a great many 
people live near these deserts, and are forced to 
cross them, — sometimes making journeys weeks 
long. And, strange to say, these people get to 
love the deserts. Indeed, people generally love 



1 6 THE DESERT. 



the place where they were born, and where 
they live. The Icelanders say that " Iceland is 
the best land the sun shines on," though the 
sun scarcely shines enough to melt the ice in 
summer. And so the Arabs who live about the 
deserts get to love them, and doubtless think 
that a sandy desert is finer than a grassy field. 
And there is something about desert-life that 
tends to make them very thoughtful and wise. 
A great many of the wisest sayings ever ut- 
tered have come from these desert-dwelling 
Arabs. I presume it may be because in their 
long journeys and in their quiet lives they 
have a great deal of time for thinking. They 
have a very firm belief in the one God, and are 
very particular to pray to Him several times a 
day. Their religion requires them always to 
wash their hands before praying. Often in the 
desert they can get no water, and so they wash 
their hands in the clean sand ; which shows 
how particular they are about their worship. 

I read this story the other day, showing how 
an Arab proved the existence of God : — 

" A Frenchman who had won a high rank among 
men of science, yet who denied the God who is the 



THE DESERT. I 7 



author of all science, was crossing the Great Sahara 
in company with an Arab guide. He noticed, with a 
sneer, that at times his guide, whatever obstacles might 
arise, put them all aside, and kneeling on the burning 
sands called on his God. Day after day passed, and 
still the Arab never failed ; till at last one evening 
the philosopher, when he rose from his knees, asked 
him, with a contemptuous smile, ' How do you know 
there is a God? ' The guide fixed his beaming eyes 
on the scoffer for a moment in wonder, and then said 
solemnly: 'How do I know there is a God? How 
do I know that a man, and not a camel, passed my 
hut last nis:ht in the darkness ? Was it not bv the 
print of his feet in the sand ? Even so,' — and he 
pointed to the sun, whose last rays were flashing 
over the lonely desert, — ' that foot-print is not that of 
a man.' " 

I think this was very beautiful, and also very 
good proof of the existence of God. I wish all 
of you, when you see the sun sinking behind 
the Taconics, into a bed of red and golden 
clouds, would stop and think that God is the 
source of all that beauty and glory. 

A great many of these Arabs also, in all 
ages, have been very just and good men. We 
have many stories, in prose and verse, to illus- 



1 8 THE DESERT. 



trate this ; but I think none are finer than the 
little poem by Leigh Hunt, entitled " Abou 
Ben Adhem," which I wish you all knew by 
heart : — 

" Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 

And saw within the moonlight in his room, 

Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 

An angel writing in a book of gold ; 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 

And to the Presence in the room he said : 

'What writest thou ? ' The Vision raised its head, 

And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 

Answered : ' The names of those who love the Lord/ 

'And is mine one ? ' said Abou. ' Nay, not so/ 

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 

But cheerly still, and said : ' I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one who loves his fellow-men. ' 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night 

It came again, and with a great waking light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had 

blessed, — 
And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! " 

They have also uttered a great many very 
wise and useful truths under the form of fables 
and parables. There is one that shows how an 



THE DESERT. 1 9 



evil habit — like drinking, or any kind of vice — 
grows and gains on one till at last it destroys 
him. When the Arab is travelling across the 
desert, he pitches a little tent for himself to 
keep out the cold, — for often the nights are 
chilly, — and ties his camel just outside. This 
is the fable : — 

" One cold night a camel, thus fastened by a long 
tether, thrust his nose into his master's tent, and said : 
i It is very cold, — let me put my nose within the 
tent ; ' and the indulgent master consented. Then 
the camel said : ' It grows colder, — let me thrust in 
my whole head.' Growing presumptuous, he at 
length pushed in the whole length of his crooked 
neck, and finally the entire bulk of his uncouth and 
ill-savored body. And when the master, remonstrat- 
ing, said, ' There is not enough room for me and 
thee/ the camel replied : ' It is verily so ; you may go 
out of the tent, — I shall remain/ " 

This fable is for us all, young and old. It 
shows how if we indulge in any evil habit, it 
grows and grows, and consumes more of our 
time and takes up our thoughts, and crowds 
out everything good and noble, till there is 
nothing left but the evil habit. This is especi- 



20 THE DESERT. 



ally so in the habit of drinking. The boy or 
young man says, " Just a glass of beer now and 
then," — and soon it is wine, and then it is whis- 
key ; and before long he feels he must have it 
every day, till the terrible habit takes full pos- 
session of him, as the camel filled the tent. 
The moral is — Do not begin ! If the Arab had 
not let the camel thrust in his nose, it would 
not have turned him out of his tent. Do not 
begin to swear, to tell lies, to cheat, to drink. 
A bad beginning makes a bad ending ; and all 
bad endings begin in something small and 
slight : hence we need to be very careful. 

But I must get back to the text. We have 
not yet found out why David prayed to be led 
to a rock higher than himself. I will tell you 
at once, and explain it afterward. It was be- 
cause he wanted shelter. It was shelter that 
David prayed for; shelter from one of two 
things, — heat or storm. 

In order to understand this, we must imagine 
ourselves making a journey across a desert, — 
not a level, sandy desert, but a rough, stony, 
barren waste like that south of Beersheba to- 



THE DESERT. 21 



wards Arabia. Imagine we have left this place 
in the morning, and are going to visit Mt. 
Sinai. The air is fresh and cool ; we leave the 
vineyards and olive orchards, and enter the 
rough, wild waste. Soon not a tree is to be 
seen, nor any green thing. The sun mounts 
higher in the sky, and his rays beat fiercely 
upon us. We keep on bravely for a few hours, 
but towards noon the sun is so hot, and the 
way is so dry and rough, and we become so 
weary and oppressed with heat, that we are 
ready to faint. The sun's rays are everywhere ; 
they prick us like hot needles, and everything 
we touch burns and blisters the skin. It is in 
vain to look for the shade of a tree, or a grassy 
ravine with springs of cool water. There are 
no villages nor houses where we can stop till 
the sun begins to go down ; there is only the 
clear, burning sky above us and the dry, burn- 
ing earth around us. Our only hope is to find 
some great rock so high as to cast a shadow, 
or with an overhanging arch under which we 
can hide ourselves till towards nightfall, when 
we can start again. 

Now suppose you were lost in such a desert 



2 2 THE DESERT. 



and under such a sky. You have wandered till 
you are weary and ready to perish ; it is in 
vain to pray for what is not there ; so you pray 
that God would lead you to some high rock 
where you can rest and find shelter, and per- 
haps meet other travellers who will show you 
the way. Often at the foot of such rocks in 
the desert there are springs of cool water, and 
a little grass that the camels can eat; so you 
would find both shade from the sun and the 
refreshment of water. 

But there are worse things in the desert than 
clear, hot sunshine. There are storms ; and 
desert-storms are the worst that blow. It is 
terrible to be out upon the ocean in a tempest, 
or off upon the mountains when winter-storms 
are raging; but neither at sea nor in the moun- 
tains are storms so fearful as in the desert. At 
sea the danger is from water ; in the desert it is 
from sand and dust and heat. In the moun- 
tains the danger is from cold and snow. These 
storms are called simoons. There is simply a 
fierce wind; but as it sweeps along it gathers 
up the dust and sand in such quantity that the 
sky is filled with it, — a great yellow, whirling, 



THE DESERT. 23 



driving cloud. When the traveller sees it com- 
ing out of the red sky he is terribly frightened, 
for if it blows any great length of time it will 
smother him to death. The camels fear it as 
much as their riders. They lie down and bury 
their noses in the sand, and wait till the fierce 
wind has passed by ; and the men dig holes in 
the earth, if they have time, where they can 
protect themselves. The danger comes from 
two sources, — dust and heat. The dust — 
finer than any we ever saw — fills the nostrils 
and lungs, causing hemorrhage, or bleeding 
and suffocation. And then the heat is so 
intense that men and animals wilt and faint, 
and at last die. I would rather be caught out 
upon Greylock in the wildest storm that ever 
beat against it, than to be overtaken by a 
simoon in the desert. 

When the traveller sees the simoon coming, 
he immediately looks about for shelter. His 
tent could not stand before the wind. If he 
digs a hole in the earth, it may be filled with 
driving sand ; for the sand drifts just as the 
snow does here. What he wants most is a 
great high rock, — higher than himself. If he 



24 THE DESERT. 



can get behind such a rock he is safe. It will 
keep off the driving dust; and perhaps there 
may be a cleft into which he can creep, and 
so hide himself. And this is what the hymn 
means, — 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me : 
Let me hide myself in thee ! " 

Now I think you all know what David meant 
when he prayed to be led to a rock higher 
than himself ; he wanted shelter against the 
burning heat of the sun and against storms. 

But he meant a little more than this, or 
rather something like this. David is not think- 
ing about an actual rock, and real heat and 
storm, but about religious things that are like 
them. 

We are all of us making a journey through 
life, and it is somewhat like a journey through 
a desert. We meet certain dangers and trou- 
bles against which we need protection. And 
these dangers and troubles are very well repre- 
sented by heat and storm. The dazzling and 
wilting heat of the sun may stand for tempta- 
tion, and the storms may stand for troubles like 
sickness and death and great disappointment. 



THE DESERT. 25 



I suppose all of you know the power of 
temptation to do wrong, because you have 
felt it, — temptations to deceive your parents 
in order to please yourselves ; to go skating or 
hunting birds'-nests, or some such thing con- 
trary to their orders ; secretly to disobey their 
wishes ; to render false excuses to your teach- 
ers ; to read bad books ; to revenge yourselves, 
or " pay-off " those who have injured you ; to 
pride yourself upon your better dress ; to jeer 
at the peculiarities or clothes or conduct of 
others ; to use bad language, — words that 
would make you blush if you knew a lady 
heard you. 

Now these temptations are very like a hot 
sun in the desert ; they so dazzle you that they 
seem for the time to be all right. And then 
all your better feelings and thoughts wilt and 
languish; and soon conscience begins to burn 
and prick you, and you begin to find out that 
it is a terrible thing to yield to temptation. 
Now at such times you need God more than 
you need any one else. You need Him to 
hear your repentance, for you have sinned 
against Him, and you want Him to forgive 



26 THE DESERT. 



you ; and you need Him to keep you from all 
these temptations, and to shelter you against 
their fierce and blinding beams. At such 
times God is your rock, — a high rock, — 
under the shadow of which you can think 
and pray, and get strength for the temptations 
of to-morrow. 

In Walter Scott's " Ivanhoe," which I presume 
many of you have read, you will find in the 
thirty-ninth chapter a beautiful hymn sung by 
Rebecca the Jewess when she was exposed to 
great temptation, in which are these two lines 
that we all ought to know by heart : — 

"Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray ! " 

And then there are the storms. I am glad 
that you do not yet know much about the storms 
of life, and I shall not say very much to you 
about them. But perhaps some of you have 
already had heavy sorrows ; perhaps you have 
sometime lost a little sister or brother, so that 
your heart was almost broken. And some of 
you may have lost a mother or father; or you 
may have to work very hard ; or you may have 



THE DESERT. 27 



sharp pain to bear. Well, these are storms; 
and when they come, all you can do is to fly to 
God, — just as if you were overtaken by a 
storm in the desert you would fly to some 
great rock near you. God will take you in 
His arms and comfort you, and hold you safe 
all your life through. 



1879. 
LAMPS AND PATHS. 



Thus, when the lamp that lighted 

The traveller at first goes out, 
He feels awhile benighted, 

And looks around in fear and doubt. 
But soon the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight on he treads, 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 

Moore : / V mourn the hopes. 

God shall be my hope, 
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. 

King Henry VI. , Part II. ; ii. 3. 

Oh, say not, dream not, heavenly notes 

To childish ears are vain ; 
That the young mind at random floats, 

And cannot reach the strain. 

Dim or unheard the words may fall ; 

And yet the Heaven-taught mind 
May learn the sacred air, and all 

The harmony unwind. 

Christian Year: " Catechism." 



II. 




LAMPS AND PATHS. 

" Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light tmto my path." 
Psalm cxix. 105. 

F we were not so used to reading 
the Bible without thought or aues- 
tion, this verse would strike us 
very strangely. Commonly a light 
is for the eyes rather than for the 
feet, and a lamp is to read or sew by rather 
than to walk by. 

But it was not always so. When David put 
these words into one of his Psalms, people read 
very little and walked a great deal, because 
they had few books to read and no carriages to 
ride in ; there was more walking than reading. 
More than that, the roads were such that, if 
one had occasion to go anywhere in the night, 
it was necessary to take a lamp, both in order 
to find the road and to avoid the dangers of 
getting out of it. In all that land of Judaea, 



32 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

where David lived, there was nothing that we 
would call a road, — that is, a good broad high- 
way, with sidewalks and fences. There was not 
anything like a good " country road," nor even 
like our paths through the forests where wood 
and lumber are drawn out. Instead, there 
were simply foot-paths or mule-paths leading 
from one village to another. They were easy 
enough to find in the daytime, but they were 
very rough ; they were not " worked " at all. 
If they led to a hill or a precipice, the traveller 
clambered up or down, or went around, as best 
he could. There were no fences enclosing 
them, no bridges over the streams ; and even 
in the towns and cities there were no lamps 
burning gas or kerosene. In the matter of 
travelling one had to pick his way over the 
country pretty much for himself. Sometimes 
he did not even try to keep in the path, but 
travelled straight on across fields, up hill and 
down dale, just as he liked. It is almost 
exactly the same in that country now. There 
is but one road that we would call such in 
the whole country. It leads from Berut to 
Damascus, under Mt. Lebanon. If you were 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 33 

to make that journey, you would ride in a 
stagecoach ; but if you were travelling any- 
where else in Syria, you would either go on 
foot or on horseback. A great number of 
tourists from England and America go every 
year from Jaffa to Jerusalem ; but all must go on 
horses, and along a path that wanders here and 
there, over the hills and through the valleys, 
very much like the paths made by sheep and 
cows on our hillside pastures. As the jour- 
ney is rather too long for one day, they are 
forced to spend the night on the way; and they 
are very careful to start in time to reach the 
stopping-place before dark, for if night should 
overtake them, it would be difficult even for 
the guides to find the path, and they would 
also be in danger of falls and bruises amongst 
the rocks and steep places on every side. But 
if by chance a party of travellers going from 
Jaffa to Jerusalem were to be overtaken by 
night on the way, there would be nothing for 
them to do but to light a lantern, and, holding 
it close to the ground, try to keep the path by 
finding the hoof-prints of the horses that have 
gone before them. They would hold the lamp 

3 



34 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

down low, about their feet, rather than up high 
about the heads ; and so David, in this Psalm 
of his, speaks of "a lamp unto my feet, and a 
light unto my path." 

If they had had such lanterns as we have 
now, that shed a powerful light all around, 
they might have held them up ; but their lamps 
were very simple, — just a little earthen lamp 
with two holes — one in which to pour the oil, 
made from olives, and the other for the wick, 
which was of flax. 

Such a lamp would not shed much light, — 
not enough to see far ahead, but only a few 
feet, when held close to the ground. I have 
heard it said that sometimes they fastened the 
lamps to their feet ; but I can hardly believe 
this. When w r e see Dr. Jessup, of Berut, we 
will ask him if it is true. 

Now I think we all understand the text, or, 
rather, what is meant by a lamp for the feet. 
David says that God's Word is like this lamp. 
It shines all about our path, and shows us 
which way to go. 

This text implies several things. By imply 
I mean this : if you ask for food, it implies that 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 35 

you are hungry ; if you ask the way to such 
a store or house, it implies that you do not 
know the way ; if you call out for a light, it 
implies that it is dark about you and that you 
cannot see. If we did not sometimes use hard 
words and explain them, you would never find 
out what they mean. 

So this text implies three things that I shall 
now speak to you about. 

1. It implies, or means, that it is a dark 
world. It is a very good world ; but there are 
some things about the world and about life 
that are very dark. There are some important 
truths that we ourselves cannot be sure of. 
There are many things that we know perfectly. 
We know that there is a solid earth under our 
feet ; we know that we see one another, and 
that the mountains rise about us, and that the 
sun shines, and that the rain falls; we know 
that twice two are four. But we are not so 
sure about some other things. We do not of 
ourselves really know there is a God. We 
might guess it, and feel pretty sure of it, as 
the heathen do ; but we might get no nearer 



36 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

right than they. And if we did not know 
there is a God, we could not know how the 
world came to exist. It is a great puzzle 
now, — how all this beautiful framework of na- 
ture came to be ; but if we had been left to 
our own guesses, we could have been sure of 
nothing about it. And in the same way we 
could not have known anything about our- 
selves, —how we came to exist. And so, if we 
had to trust to ourselves, there would be a 
great cloud of uncertainty shutting us in, like 
the clouds that settle on Greylock in Novem- 
ber days ; we know Greylock is there, but we 
can hardly persuade strangers that there is a 
great mountain within the mist. But when we 
open the Bible, we find that there is one God, 
who made the heavens and the earth and the 
animals and man. This simple fact throws out 
light, like a great lantern or sun, and makes 
a great many things plain. God made the 
world ; God made us ; God made all things. 
But it is a dark world in another respect. 
Of ourselves we could never surely know that 
there is another life after this. We might hope 
there is, but we could not be sure. We might 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 37 

make all sorts of guesses, as the old Greeks did 
about Pluto's realms ; but they would be only 
guesses. But in the Bible Christ tells us that 
God's universe is full of mansions or homes, 
and that He went away from the earth to pre- 
pare them for us. We need not be greatly 
troubled about death when we remember that 
so dear a friend as Christ is to prepare our 
place for us when we die. If we love and 
obey Christ, the place will be with Him where 
He is, and all ready to receive us. 

Now, nearly eve^body speaks of death as 
dark, and the grave as cold and dark, and of 
the tomb as silent and dark. But when we 
read about death in the Bible, it is not dark. 
The light may not be very great; but if we 
hold it carefully in the way that leads out of life 
into death, we shall see the prints of Christ's 
feet, and we can safely follow where He has 
gone before us. There is a poem by Henry 
Vaughan beginning, — 

" They are all gone into a world of light," — 

which you will read when you are older, and, 
I am sure, think very beautiful. He believed 



38 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

what we have been saying of death so fully 
that instead of calling it dark he made it a 
light, — 

" Dear, beauteous death, — the jewel of the just, — 
Shining nowhere but in the dark ! " 

2. The text implies, or means, that going 
through life is like walking a path in a dark 
night, and that the Bible shows us the path. 

Almost all roads have -names. There is 
Broadway in New York, and the Strand in 
London, and the Champs-Elysees in Paris, and 
the Corso in Rome ; and here at home we have 
Main Street and Church Street and Holden 
Street, and so on. Now, if we were to name the 
path of life that the Bible points out, we might 
call it " The Way of God's Commandments," — 
rather a long name ; but then it means a great 
thing. For all these streets that I spoke of are 
named from some peculiarity. Broadway is a 
wide street, — wide for New York at least ; the 
Strand runs along near the river Thames ; the 
Champs-Elysees is like a delightful pleasure- 
ground ; and the Corso is where the horses 
run races without riders or drivers, urged on 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 39 

by dangling spurs. So we call the path of 
life " The Way of God's Commandments," be- 
cause it is all marked out by God's guiding 
words. 

This road is a very long one for most of us. 
It runs through ten, twenty, forty, sixty, and 
sometimes eighty years. It is winding, up and 
down, sometimes rough and sometimes swampy; 
and it is always blind and hard to keep except 
as we use the light of the Bible, where we shall 
find all the directions we need. 

The moment one steps out of this path one 
is in danger ; that is the strange thing about 
the path of life. Just so soon as we cease to 
hold God's Word over it and to remember 
God's guiding commandments, we get out of 
the road, and then we are in peril ; for it leads 
through a region full of three things, — preci- 
pices and marshes and dark forests. Some- 
times, when one gets out of this path, he falls 
over the rocks and lies bruised and bleed- 
ing. This happens when we forget the com- 
mandments of virtue, such as temperance and 
honesty and truth-telling and obedience to 
parents. I see young people worse off than 



4-0 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

if they had fallen over rocks. A boy who 
drinks, a girl who tells lies, children who dis- 
obey their parents, will never make this jour- 
ney of life in safety unless they make haste 
to get back into the safe path of God's com- 
mandments, that leads one away from all such 
things. 

I think, however, there are almost more 
swamps alongside of the journey of life than 
precipices, and they are almost as bad to en- 
counter. By swamps I mean the shameful 
sins, such as meanness, pride in dress or be- 
cause one's father is rich, despising others 
because they are poor or poorly clad, bearing 
down hard upon those who are unpopular, or 
have some unfortunate impediment of speech, 
such as stammering, or peculiarity of appear- 
ance that the poor fellow cannot help ; fancied 
superiority if one happens to be a little quicker 
or brighter ; contemptuous or ungenerous treat- 
ment of others. I would almost rather see a 
boy or girl stealing than guilty of meanness. 
You can cure the former; but it is hard work 
to get meanness out of anybody. 

I call these faults swamps ; and how often 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 4 1 

young people, and old too, fail into them and 
get all covered with mire, and yet go along the 
streets without knowing it, and as pleased with 
themselves as if they were clothed in purple 
and fine linen. The worst thing about this 
straying out of the path of life is that one does 
not know one is lost, nor how soiled one gets to 
be. But if one falls over a precipice, — that is, 
if one gets drunk or steals, — one knows it, and 
feels the disgrace ; and it is a good thing to 
feel ashamed when one has done wrong. 

The lamp of God's Word sheds a very clear 
light along these swampy places; and I will 
show it to you. It is found in St. Pauls letter 
to the Ephesians, iv. 32 : " Be ye kind one to 
another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, 
even as God, for Christ's sake, hath forgiven 
you." 

And then there are dark forests by the side 
of the path of life, and a great many wander 
away into them. I mean by dark forests, for- 
getting that there is a path that God has com- 
manded us to walk in ; forgetting all about 
duty; forgetting almost that there is such a 
word as duty ; forgetting all about prayer and 



42 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

God and Jesus Christ and his teachings ; for- 
getting what conscience says, and all the good 
teaching of home and the church, and going 
on in a heedless way, doing just what you 
like, and saying to yourself and others that 
you " mean to have a good time," — but don't 
you know that if one sets out to have a good 
time one never gets it? — this I call getting 
out of God's path into dark forests. Heed- 
lessness, thoughtlessness, indifference, careless- 
ness, — these are sad things for young or old. 
I would not have you anxious and doubtful 
and miserable all the while lest you lose the 
way ; but I do believe that it is good for us all 
to keep our eyes and ears open in this world, 
and our minds and hearts also, and to think a 
great deal about the way we are going. 

I fear there are some of us lost in just such 
forests as these. How shall we get back ? 
When people are lost in the woods, there is 
but one way for others to find them, and that 
is by shouting. If one is lost on a desert or 
prairie, the eye would be used, because one can 
see farther than the voice can reach; but in 
a forest one cannot see far, and so must use 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 43 

the voice. Well, if any of us are lost in these 
wild woods of forgetfulness and indifference, 
and want to get back to the path of God's 
commandments, all we have to do is to stop, 
and stay still for a little while, and keep our 
ears open, and hold ourselves all ready to start, 
and very soon we shall hear a voice calling to 
us : " This is the way ; walk ye in it." And 
then, going toward the voice, we shall find not 
only the path, but a Leader w T ho will show us 
every step of the way hereafter. 

3. I will speak of only one other thing that 
the text implies ; and that is — a destination, 
or end. 

Every path leads somewhere, except some of 
these paths upon the mountains about us ; do 
not trust them when you go chestnuting next 
October. That is what paths are for, — to take 
us somew T here. In Rome, two thousand years 
ago, there were guideboards on the main ave- 
nues leading out of the city, pointing to Ger- 
many, to Egypt, to Spain, to Gaul, — rather 
far-off places these roads led to, but they 
showed how great Rome was. 



44 LAMPS AND PATHS. 

Life is not only a path, or a "journey," as 
everybody calls it, but it leads to a destination. 
Now, what puzzles me is, that anybody, old or 
young, should forget this, — that the path of 
life leads to something. I do not mean merely 
to something in the future life, but to some- 
thing here in this life. It is as sure as fate ; 
yet I see a great many persons who do not 
seem to have ever heard that life leads to 
something. I see young men and boys drink- 
ing and swearing, and reading bad books and 
vile papers, and I wonder if they know where 
such paths lead to. When older persons do 
such things, we call them fools. When we see 
a grown-up man staggering along the street, 
with his mouth full of oaths, we say, " O you 
foolish man, you know not where your path 
leads ! " If he would take Gods Word, and 
hold it down as a lamp about his feet, he 
would find them very near a steep precipice, 
at the foot of which are strewn dead mens 
bones. 

I think one is never too young to look and 
see which way his path leads. But a better 
thing still is to say, " I will take God's Word, — 



LAMPS AND PATHS. 45 

his commandments and all the tender words of 
our Saviour, — and use them as a light to show 
me the path of my life. 

I said, at the outset, that the text implies 
that this is a dark world. Yes ; but as we walk 
along this path year after year, we shall find it 
growing plainer and lighter and brighter every 
day; and as we draw near to the end of the 
journey, we can look ahead, and find that all 
the darkness is behind us, and that beyond 
all is clear and bright ! 



i88o. 
THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 



Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies 
In other men, sleeping, but never dead, 
Will rise in majesty to meet thine own. 

James Russell Lowell : Sonnet IV. 

Restore to God his due in tithe and time : 
A tithe purloined cankers the whole estate. 

Sundays observe : think, when the bells do chime, 
'T is angels' music ; therefore come not late. 

God there deals blessings. If a king did so, 

Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show? 

George Herbert. 

O Lord, that lends me life, 
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 

King Henry VI , Part II. ; i. i. 



III. 

THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

" A nd David longed, and said, Oh that one would give me 
drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem, that is at the gate / 
A?id the three brake through the host of the Philistines, and 
drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by the gate, 
and took it, and brought it to David : but David would not 
drink of it, but poured it out to the Lord, and said, My God 
forbid it me, that I should do this thing : shall I drink the blood 
of these men that have put their lives in jeopardy ? for with the 
jeopardy of their lives they brought it. Therefore he would not 
drink it." 

i Chronicles xi. 17-19. 

F any of my young friends ask 
why I have read this long-time- 
ago Bible-story as a text for a ser- 
mon to-day, I will not only answer, 
but thank them for the question ; 
for nothing helps a speaker at the start so 
much as a straight, intelligent question. I 
have read this story from the Chronicles, be- 
cause I want to connect this beautiful occa- 
sion with some beautiful thing in the Bible ; 
for beautiful things go together. 1 

4 




50 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

My main object and desire in this service is 
to have everything beautiful and pure and high. 
For I know how well you will remember this 
day in after years ; I know how every feature 
and incident is imprinting itself upon your 
minds ; I know how, twenty and forty years 
hence, when we older ones will be dead and 
gone, and you will be scattered far and wide, 
some in the great cities, — New York, Chi- 
cago, St. Louis, — some in California, and 
some farther off still, — I know how, on quiet 
June Sundays years hence, you will recall this 
Festival of Flowers in North Adams. You 
may be in some of the great cities, or on the 
broad prairies, or amongst the park-like forests 
of the Sierra, or in Puget Sound, but you will 
never forget this day. These familiar walls ; 
this pulpit and font and chancel decked with 
flowers; this service, made /or you and in -part 
by you, — you will never forget it. And be- 
cause you will always remember it, I want to 
have it throughout just as beautiful, just as 
pure and inspiring, as possible. The flowers 
will do their part; they never fail to speak 
sweet, pure words to us. Your Superintendent 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 5 1 

always does his part well, and I hope you will 
all thank him in your hearts, if not with words, 
for his faithful and laborious interest in you. 
And your teachers and others who have 
brought together this wealth of beauty, this 
glory of color and perfume, this tribute of 
sweetness from mountain-side and field and 
garden, — they have done well; and you will 
remember it all years hence, and when far 
away, and perhaps some tears will start for 
" the days that are no more." 

But this occasion would not be complete to 
my mind if there were not linked with it some 
noble and inspiring truth. I want to make all 
these flowers and this music the setting of a 
truth, like a diamond set round with emeralds, 
or an opal with pearls. You have brought the 
pearls and the emeralds ; / must bring a dia- 
mond or an opal to set in the midst of them. I 
am very sure that I have one in this old story, — - 
a diamond very brilliant if we brush away the 
old Hebrew dust, and cut away the sides and 
let in a little more light upon it. I am not 
sure, however, but I ought to call it a pearl 
rather than a diamond; for there is a chaste 



52 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

and ^gentle modesty about it that reminds one 
of the soft lustre of a pearl rather than of 
the flashing splendor of a diamond. St. John, 
in naming the precious stones that make the 
foundation of the heavenly city, omits the dia- 
mond, — and for some good reason, I suspect, 
— while the twelve gates were all pearls. Now, 
I think David stood very near one of those 
gates of pearl at the time of this story. To 
my mind, it is nearly the most beautiful in all 
this Book ; and I know you will listen while I 
tell it more fully. 

I have this impression of David, — that if you 
had seen him when he was young, you would 
have thought him the most glorious human 
being you had ever looked on. He was one of 
those persons who fascinate all who come near 
them. He bound everybody to him in a won- 
derful way. They not only liked him, but, they 
became absorbed in him, and were ready to 
obey him and serve him, and to give them- 
selves up to him in every way possible. I am 
not at all surprised that Saul's son and daughter 
and Saul himself fell in love with, and could 
hardly live without, him. It was so all along ; 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 53 

and even after he became an old man every- 
body was fascinated by him, — even his old 
uncles, — and stood ready to do his bidding 
and consult his wishes. 

It was somewhat so with Richard Cceur de 
Lion and Napoleon and Mary Stuart and 
Alexander and Julius Caesar; but the personal 
fascination of none of these persons was so 
great as that of David. In some respects he 
was no greater than some of these ; but he had 
a broader and more lovable nature than any 
of them, for he had what not one of them had 
in anything like the same degree, — a great 
and noble generosity. David deserved all the 
love and devotion that was lavished upon him, 
because — let men love him ever so much — 
he loved more in return. 

There was not apparently, at this early time 
of his life, one grain of selfishness about him. 
You know that the word chivalry was not used 
till about a thousand years back, while David 
lived almost three times as long ago; but he 
was one of the most chivalrous men that ever 
lived. By chivalry I mean a union of honor, 
purity, religion, nobleness, bravery, and devo- 



54 TH E STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

tion to a cause or person. David excited this 
chivalric devotion in others because he had so 
much of it in himself. And here I will stop a 
moment just to say that if you want to awaken 
any feeling in another towards yourself, you 
must first have it in yourself. I think there is 
a very general notion that in order to awaken 
admiration and love and regard in others one 
must have a fine appearance. There is a great 
deal of misplaced faith in fine clothes and 
bright eyes and clear complexions and pretty 
features ; but I have yet to learn that these ever 
win genuine love and admiration. And so far 
as I have observed, a true sentiment only grows 
out of a corresponding sentiment ; feeling comes 
from feeling ; in short, others come at last to 
feel towards us just about as we feel towards 
them. And I never knew a person, young 
or old, to show a kind, generous, hearty dis- 
position to others who was not surrounded by 
friends. And I have seen — I know not how 
many — selfish and unobliging and unsympa- 
thetic persons go friendless all their days in 
spite of wealth and fine appearance. Now, put 
this away in your memory to think of hereafter. 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 55 

It was David's great-heartedness that bound 
others to him. At the time of this story he 
was a sort of outlaw, driven without any good 
reason from the court of Saul. But he was 
a man of too much spirit to allow himself to 
be tamely killed, and he loved Saul and his 
family too well to actually make war upon him, 
and he was too good a patriot to give trouble 
to his country, — a pretty hard place he had to 
fill, I can assure you. But he was equal to it, 
and simply bided his time, drawing off into the 
wild and rocky regions where he could hide 
and also protect himself. But he was not a 
man whom people would leave alone. The 
magnetic power that was in him drew kindred 
spirits, and some that were not kindred who 
found it pleasanter to follow a chief in the 
wilds than to live in the dull quiet of their 
homes. But the greater part of them were 
brave, generous, devoted souls, who had come 
to the conclusion that to live with David and 
fight his battles and share his fortunes was 
more enjoyable than to plod along under Saul 
and his petty tyrannies. There were, in par- 
ticular, eleven men of the tribe of Gad, — 



56 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

mountaineers, — fierce as lions and swift as 
roes, terrible men in battle, and full of devotion 
to David. In this way he got together quite a 
little army, which he used to defend the bor- 
ders from the Philistines, who were a thieving 
set, and also to defend himself in case Saul 
troubled him. It was not exactly the best sort 
of a life for a man to live; and had not Da- 
vid been a person of very high principles, 
his followers would have been a band of rob- 
bers living on the country. But David pre- 
vented that, and made them as useful as was 
possible. His headquarters were at the cave 
of Adullam, or what is now called Engedi. 
While here, the Philistines came on a foraging 
expedition as far as Bethlehem, and with so 
large a force that David and his few followers 
were shut up in their fortress, — for how long 
w r e do not know, — probably for some days. It 
was very dull and wearisome business, impris- 
oned in a rocky defile and unable to do any- 
thing, while the Philistines were stealing the 
harvests that grew on the very spot where he 
had spent his boyhood. 

It was then that what has always seemed to 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 57 

me a very touching and beautiful trait of Da- 
vids character showed itself, and that is — a 
feeling of homesickness. Now, there is very- 
little respect to be had for a person who is not 
capable of homesickness. To give up to it may 
be weak, but to be incapable of it is a bad sign. 
But in David it took a very poetic form. Close 
by was the home where he was born. There, 
in Bethlehem, he had passed the dreamy years 
of his childhood and youth amidst the love of 
his parents and brothers, whom he now had 
with him ; there he fed his sheep and sang to 
his harp ; and there, morning and evening, he 
gathered with others about the well, — the meet- 
ing-place of his companions, — loved with all 
the passionate energy of his nature, and still 
loved in spite of the troublous times that had 
come upon him. As David broods over these 
memories, he longs with a yearning, homesick 
feeling for Bethlehem and its well. And, like 
a poet as he was, he conceives that if he could 
but drink of its water, it would relieve this 
feverish unrest and longing for the past. It 
was a very natural feeling. You are too young 
to know what it means ; but we who are older 



58 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

think of these little things in a strange, yearn- 
ing way. It is the little things of childhood 
that we long for, — to lie under the roof on 
which we heard the rain patter years and years 
ago ; to gather fruit in the old orchard ; to fish 
in the same streams ; to sit on the same rock, 
or under the same elm or maple, and see the 
sun go down behind the same old hills ; to 
drink from the same spring that refreshed us 
in summer days that will not come again, — 
you are too young for this, but we who are 
older know well how David felt. He was not 
a man to hide his feelings, and so he uttered 
his longing for the water of the well by the 
gate of Bethlehem. His words are overheard; 
and three of these terrible followers of his — 
fierce as lions and fleet as deer — took their 
swords and fought their way through the Phi- 
listines, slaying we know not how many, and 
brought back some of the water. It was 
enough for them that David wanted it. 

Now, some people would say that it was very 
foolish and sentimental of David to be indulg- 
ing in such a whim, and still more foolish in 
these men to gratify it at the risk of their 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 59 

lives ; but I think there is a better way of look- 
ing at it. If David had required them to pro- 
cure the water at the risk of their lives, it would 
have been very wrong; but the whole thing 
was unknown to him till the water was brought. 
I prefer to regard it as an act of splendid hero- 
ism, prompted by chivalric devotion, and I will 
not stop to consider whether or not it was sen- 
sible and prudent. And I want to say to you 
that whenever you see or hear of an action 
that has these qualities of heroism and gener- 
osity and devotion, it is well to admire and 
praise it, whether it will bear the test of cold 
reason or not. I hope your hearts will never 
get to be so dry and hard that they will not 
beat responsive to brave and noble deeds, even 
if they are not exactly prudent. 

But David took even a higher view of this 
brave and tender act of his lion-faced, deer- 
footed followers. It awoke his religious feel- 
ings ; for our sense of what is noble and gener- 
ous and brave lies very close to our religious 
sensibilities. The whole event passes, in Da- 
vid's mind, into the field of religion ; and so 
what does he do ? Drink the water, and praise 



60 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

his three mighty warriors, and bid them never 
again run such risks to gratify his chance 
wishes ? No. David looks a great deal farther 
into the matter than this. The act seemed to 
him to have a religious character ; its devotion 
was so complete and unselfish that it became 
sacred. He felt what I have just said, — that 
a brave and devoted act that incurs danger is 
almost if not quite a religious act. And so he 
treats it in a religious way. He is anxious to 
separate it from himself, although done for him, 
and get it into a service done for God ; and he 
may have thought that he had himself been a 
little selfish. To his mind it would have been 
a mean and low repayment to these men to 
drink their water with loud praises of their 
valor. They had done a Godlike deed, and so 
he will transfer it to God, and make it an act 
as between them and God. I do not know 
that those lion-faced, deer-footed warriors un- 
derstood or appreciated his treatment of their 
act ; but David himself very well knew what he 
was about, and you can see that he acted in a 
very high and true way. He will not drink 
the water, but pours it out unto the Lord, and 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 6 1 

lets it sink into the ground unused, and, be- 
cause unused, a sort of sacrifice and offering to 
God. Water got with such valor and risk was 
not for man, but for God. Much less was it 
right to use it to gratify a dreamy whim that 
had in it perhaps just a touch of selfishness. 
The bravery and danger had made the water 
sacred, and so he will make a sacred use 
of it. 

If any one thinks that David was carried 
away by sentimentality, or that he was over- 
scrupulous, one has only to recall how, when 
actually in want, he took the consecrated bread 
from the Tabernacle at Nob, and ate it and 
gave it to his followers. His strong common- 
sense told him that even consecrated bread was 
not too good for hungry men ; but that same 
fine common-sense told him that water pro- 
cured at the risk of life, when not actually 
wanted, had become sacred, and had better be 
turned into a sort of prayer and offering to 
God than wantonly drunk. 

And now, having the story well in mind, I 
will close by drawing out from it one or two 
lessons that seem to me very practical. 



62 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

Suppose we were to ask, Who acted in the 
noblest way, — the three strong men who got 
the water, or David, who made a sacrifice or liba- 
tion of it ? It does not take us long to answer. 
The real greatness of the whole affair was 
with the three men, though David put a beau- 
tiful meaning upon it, and exalted it to its true 
place. Their act was very brave and lofty ; but 
David crowned it with its highest grace by 
carrying it on into religion, — that is, by set- 
ting it before God. 

I see a great many people who are living 
worthy lives, doing a great many kind acts 
and rendering beautiful services, but do not 
take God into their thoughts, nor render their 
services as unto Him. I think everybody 
must see that this act of these lion-faced men 
was more complete when David took it before 
God than as rendered for himself. Why, it 
might take long to tell ; but, briefly, it was 
because the nameless grace of religion has 
been added to it, and because it was connected 
with that great, dear Name that hallows every- 
thing brought under it. 

Many of you have brought here offerings of 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 63 

flowers, sweet and fit for this day and place 
and purpose. Some may have brought them 
simply with the thought of helping out the 
occasion, or to please your teacher, or because 
it is beautiful in itself to heap up beauty in 
this large way ; but if, as you worked here 
yesterday, or brought your flowers to-day, your 
thoughts silently rose to God, saying, " These 
are for Thy altars, — this glory of tint and per- 
fume is not for us, but for Thee? — then, I 
think, every poet, every person of fine feeling, 
every true thinker, would say that the latter 
is more beautiful than the former. I hate to 
see a life that does not take hold of God ; 
I hate to see fine acts and brave lives and 
noble dispositions and generous emotions that 
do not reach up into a sense of God ; I hate 
to see persons — and I see a great many such 
nowadays — striving after beautiful lives and 
true sentiments and large thoughts without 
ever a w T ord of prayer, or thought of God, or 
anything to show they love and venerate Christ. 
I hate to see it, both because they might rise 
so much higher and because at last it fails ; for 
God must enter into every thought and senti- 



64 THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 

ment and purpose in order to make it gen- 
uine, and truly beautiful, and altogether right. 
That God may be in your thoughts ; that you 
may learn to confess Him in all your ways, 
to serve and fear and know and love Him, — 
this is the wish with which I greet you to-day, 
and the prayer that I offer in your behalf. 

I found, the other day, some lines by Faber 
— a Catholic poet — so beautifully giving this 
last thought of our sermon that I will read 
them to you : — 

" O God ! who wert my childhood's love, 
My boyhood's pure delight, 
A presence felt the livelong day, 
A welcome fear at night, 

" I know not what I thought of Thee ; 
What picture I had made 
Of that Eternal Majesty 

To whom my childhood prayed. 

"With age Thou grewest more divine, 
More glorious than before ; 
I feared Thee with a deeper fear, 
Because I loved Thee more. 



THE STORY OF A CUP OF WATER. 65 

" Thou broadenest out with every year 
Each breath of life to meet. 
I scarce can think Thou art the same, 
Thou art so much more sweet. 

"Father! what hast Thou grown to now? 
A joy all joys above, 
Something more sacred than a fear, 
More tender than a love. 

" With gentle swiftness lead me on, 
Dear God ! to see Thy face ; 
And meanwhile in my narrow heart, 
Oh, make Thyself more space.'' 



i88i. 
THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 



It is the armory of light, — 

Let constant use but keep it bright, 

You '11 find it yields 
To holy hands and humble hearts 

More swords and shields 
Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 

Only be sure 

The hands be pure 
That hold these weapons, and the eyes 
Those of turtles, — chaste and true, 

Wakeful and wise. 

Richard Crashaw. 

But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve 
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve. 

Chaucer. 



IV. 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 




11 Search the Scriptures." 
St. John v. 39. 

HE more I have to do with young 
people, the more do I find that 
they are interested in history ; and 
for one, I am glad that history is 
now written in such a way that 
young people can be interested in it. It is not 
till lately that this has been done. In former 
times it was written only for adults, and too often 
in such a way as not to interest them, being 
full of dates and dry statistics of reigns, and of 
laws, and of the causes that led to wars, without 
much to say of the people, of how they lived 
and what they did. But all this is changed, 
and now we have histories that interest old and 
young; and one must be very stupid who is 
not pleased with them. There is Dickens's 
" Child's History of England," nearly the best 



70 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

book Mr. Dickens ever wrote, and one of the 
best books of history any of us can read ; and 
there is Coffin's " Story of Liberty " and " Boys 
of '76," and Irving' s " Life of Columbus," and 
Higginson's " History of the United States," 
and others that I need not mention. And for 
older young people there are Walter Scott's 
novels, that give almost the entire history of 
England and a good part of the History of 
France, and two that will tell you all about 
the Crusades ; only you must read real his- 
tories as well, so as to get the story quite 
straight. And there are Charles Kingsley's 
books : " Hereward," that describes the early 
history of England, and " Westward Ho " (that 
I forgot to speak of in my lectures to young 
men a year ago), which will tell you all about 
those first adventurers who left England in 
their little ships and sailed up and down our 
coasts and among the West Indies, — one of the 
most fascinating and instructive books in our 
language. Lately a German — Ebers — has 
been writing some very good books for young 
people, half history and half story, which, if 
you read carefully, you will know as much as 






THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 7 1 

you need to know of Egypt and Persia. Now, 
if your minds have not been utterly spoiled by 
reading the Dime and other such novels, and 
those miserable illustrated newspapers, which 
men ought to be ashamed to sell, and you 
ought to be ashamed to read, — if, I say, your 
minds have not been spoiled by reading this mis- 
erable trash, there is nothing that will interest 
you so much as some of these histories. The 
history of almost anything is interesting ; it sat- 
isfies our natural desire to know about things. 
For the mind is very like the body; it has 
an appetite and gets hungry. Three times a 
day, at least, the body cries out for food, and 
all the while the mind is crying out for some- 
thing to feed it. That is the reason children 
ask so many questions. People often call it 
curiosity, as though it were some trifling thing, 
and not to be regarded ; but it is instead a 
hunger for knowledge. God put it in us so 
that we may come to know something. Show 
me a child who does not ask questions, and 
I shall see one who will never amount to 
anything, and will grow 7 up ignorant and 
stupid. 



72 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

Now, as I said, the history of almost anything 
is interesting. If you have a fine dog or horse, 
you like to know all about it, where it came 
from, its age, who owned it, etc. You like to 
know the history of your parents, what they 
did when they were young, where they lived 
and travelled, and all that. " Tell me what you 
did when you were a boy," are nearly the most 
familiar words I hear. Even a stone may have 
an interesting history if you can find any one 
wise enough to tell it. Take some of these 
great granite boulders that are scattered over 
our hills, half rounded and with sharp cloven 
sides, — a strange history they have, — long 
journeys by sea and land, and terrible conflicts 
with frost and ice and water ; starting away up 
in Greenland or Labrador on floating moun- 
tains of ice, and sailing south when the ocean 
covered all this region, till the sun melted their 
icy ship and dropped them just where you see 
them, — a very strange history indeed. I often 
wish some one would tell me about these 
" flints," or " hard-heads," that you see broken 
up by fire and water when they lie in the way 
of the builder or road-maker, - — just as it is 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 73 

said that Hannibal made a path for his ele- 
phants, over the Alps, by building fires on the 
rocks and then pouring on vinegar ; but I 
never could quite believe this story, especially 
the part about the vinegar. Hannibal was a 
very wise general, but he never thought so far 
ahead as to take along vinegar for making a 
road over the St. Bernard Pass. 

So a book may have a history. Once a lady in 
Newport showed me a book carefully wrapped 
in flannel to keep out the damp Newport air, 
— a dingy, ill-shaped, leather-bound volume, 
printed on dull, grimy paper, in poor, blotting 
type, — altogether a very uninteresting book ; 
but it is worth hundreds, if not thousands, of 
dollars, for it is Eliot's Indian Bible. But one 
man in all the world can read it and know 
what it means. The Indian tribes for whom 
Eliot made it are all dead, the language is 
dead, and the Bible alone lives, — a few copies 
here and there, carefully cherished, and worth 
almost, if not more than, their weight in gold. 

But I must begin to speak of what I spe- 
cially have in mind, and that is, the history of 
the New Testament. You all have one, but 



74 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

perhaps not all of you know its history. It is 
so common, that possibly we have not thought 
that it has a history ; it is just the Bible, and 
that is all. But it has a long and eventful 
story, — between seventeen and eighteen hun- 
dred years long, and a history of a hundred or 
two years that we do not know much about, — 
only hints and guesses. Still we know for a 
certainty that Sts. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and 
John, wrote the Gospels, St. Luke the Acts, 
and Sts. Paul, Peter, James, and John wrote 
the Epistles, and John the Apocalypse, or 
Revelation. 

I speak to you young people on this subject 
because just now everybody is talking about 
the New Version, as it is called, — that is, a 
new translation of the New Testament just 
finished and published. What we older people 
are so much interested in, young people also 
cannot fail to wish to know something about, 
and I think I can tell you why we have the 
New Version. 

Printing, you remember, was invented in 
the fifteenth century, and nearly the first book 
printed was the Bible, in 1460. As the New 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 75 

Testament was written in the first century, 
there was a period of about fourteen hundred 
years when it was copied with pen and ink, — 
every one written out by hand ! Think what 
a labor it must have been ! And yet a great 
many copies were made, and nearly every 
Christian community had one ; but they were 
read chiefly by the ministers and priests, and 
were often kept in the churches. Now, if 
everybody could have had a Bible for the first 
five hundred years, a great many of the cor- 
ruptions of the Romish Church would not have 
existed. But there were only a few books, and 
not many people could read, and so the priests 
had everything their own way. 

This New Testament, of which I am giving 
you a history, was first written upon papyrus, — 
a sort of paper made from the inner lining of 
a reed found chiefly in the Nile. These thin 
strips of papyrus lining were pasted together 
crosswise, and then pressed by heavy weights 
so as to make a smooth surface. A tolerably 
good paper was thus made, though not a very 
strong one ; yet it answered the purpose. The 
main trouble was, it quickly wore out; for, as 



76 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

but few books were made, each one was used a 
great deal, and of course they would not last 
long. Papyrus was used as late as the eleventh 
century, when the French began to make paper 
from cotton. But long before this — indeed, so 
early that we know not when — another kind of 
paper, called parchment or vellum, was made 
from the skins of animals, commonly sheep. 
It is used still for wills and diplomas, on ac- 
count of its durability. But it was expensive 
as compared with papyrus, and we have no 
knowledge that it was used for the New Tes- 
tament till the fourth century, that is, in three 
hundred and something. All the papyrus cop- 
ies of the New Testament have perished, worn 
out or decayed ; but in the fourth and fifth 
centuries it began to be written on parchment. 
How extensively this was done at first, we do 
not know ; probably only a few copies were 
made till many years after. At any rate, there 
are only two copies in Greek that date back as 
far as the fourth century, and there are but one 
or two that belong to the fifth century. After 
that there are many copies or parts of copies. 
Besides these early manuscripts there are trans- 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 77 

lations from the original Greek into Latin, 
Syriac, Coptic, and other languages, that are 
even older. The Latin and Syriac belong to 
the second century ; but, being translations, 
they are not so valuable as the old Greek cop- 
ies. This is rather dry talk ; but I hope you 
will listen attentively, for it is well you should 
know what I am telling you. 

Now let me sav something about these two 
or three oldest Greek manuscripts of the New 
Testament, written on parchment with pen and 
ink. Fifty years ago, it was thought that a 
certain manuscript in the Vatican Library, at 
Rome, that was made in the fourth century, 
was the oldest in existence, and it was named 
Codex (or Copy) B. For some reason a later 
copy, belonging to the fifth century, and now 
kept in the British Museum, is called Codex A, 
or the Alexandrine. Next comes Codex C, 
which is to be found in Paris ; but it is so faded 
that it can hardly be read. Then comes Codex 
D, written in the sixth century, 

In 1859 a great German scholar by the name 
of Tischendorf became convinced that there 
were valuable manuscripts in the Greek con- 



78 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

vents near Mt. Sinai, and so he made a jour- 
ney there. To his great surprise he found an 
entire copy in Greek of the New Testament 
older than the Vatican B, and therefore older 
than any in existence. It is a very interesting- 
story that he had to tell when he returned, — 
how he concealed his great joy from the monks 
(for he felt somewhat as Columbus did when he 
discovered America), and took the parchment to 
his room, and pored over it by the dim light of 
his lamp all night long, and how, afterward, he 
got permission from the Head of the Greek 
Church to bring it to Germany, where it was 
carefully lithographed and a few copies printed 
for the great libraries of the world. 

Now I think you know where our New Tes- 
tament comes from, — chiefly from Copy B in 
the Vatican Library at Rome, Copy A in the 
British Museum, and this new copy found by 
Tischendorf, which, because it is the oldest, is 
called by the first letter of the Hebrew alpha- 
bet, Aleph, or the Sinaitic Manuscript. All 
these have been most carefully copied and 
printed, so that scholars have access to them. 
When a student of the New Testament wants 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 



to find out exactly what its authors actually 
wrote, he looks over these three versions, — B, 
A, and Aleph, or the Vatican, the Alexandrine, 
and the Sinaitic, — and still others; then he 
looks into the Latin, the Syriac, and the Coptic 
translations ; then he turns over the writings 
of the Early Church fathers, Irenaeus, Clement, 
Tertullian, and others, and finds, if he can, the 
passage quoted; if they all give a certain pas- 
sage alike, he feels quite sure it is exactly as it 
was first written. If thev differ, he weighs one 
side against the other; and very nice work it 
is, for a great many things need to be consid- 
ered. For example, if the Sinaitic copy and the 
Syriac or Latin translation agree, and all others 
disagree, the former, though only two, outweigh 
all the rest, though there may be twenty, sim- 
ply because they are older ; for the Syriac and 
Latin translations were made very early. 

Xow you will ask, Do they differ very much ? 
No ; hardly ever in such a way as to affect the 
sense, which leads us to think that the men 
who copied the Xew Testament with pen and 
ink were very careful, knowing how important 
was their work. 



80 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

I will now try to tell you how the New Tes- 
tament was first written. It was written in 
capital letters, without punctuation, — not a 
period, nor a colon, nor a comma, — and without 
division into chapters or verses or paragraphs. 
All this matter of punctuation and chapter 
and verse is a recent thing. The division into 
chapters was made in the thirteenth century by 
Cardinal Hugo, and the verses were marked off 
by Robert Stephens in 1551 ; and he had much 
better have not done it, for it has caused end- 
less mischief and confusion. 

Now about the translations ; and this is the 
most important part of all. You will keep in 
mind that the New Testament was written in 
Greek, but the Greek language died out. Be- 
sides, Christianity went where Greek was un- 
known, — all through the Roman Empire. 
Hence, very early, a translation was made into 
Latin, and called the Vulgate, because it was 
for the vulgus, — the Latin word for common, 
or unlearned, people. But, by and by, Chris- 
tianity spread into countries where Latin was 
not spoken, — into Gaul and Germany and 
Britain. Still, for a long time no translations 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 



were made into the language of these nations. 
The Latin Bible was used ; and when the 
preacher quoted it, he first gave the Latin and 
then translated it. Only the learned, who were 
very few, could read Latin ; hence there came 
to be great ignorance of the Bible, and all sorts 
of superstitions and false beliefs took posses- 
sion of the people, and the Bible came to be 
almost a forgotten and unused book. Even 
Luther had hardly ever seen one till long 
after he had become a monk. Translations 
were made in Spain and France and Germany, 
even before the time of Luther ; but as they 
were not printed, but copied by pen, there were 
but few copies. In Bohemia, Huss translated 
the Bible, and was put to death for his work, — 
strange payment for such a service ! Away 
back as far as 660 or 670, Caedmon, an English 
monk, turned a part of the Latin Bible into 
English poetry. And then, in 1381, Wickliffe 
made a straight translation of it into English ; 
but you would hardly be able to read it, so 
much has the language changed since then. 
He was not burned, as Huss was ; but after 
his death his mouldering bones were taken 

6 



82 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

out of the grave and burnt to ashes and cast 
into a brook — the Swift — that empties into 
the river Avon, which flows into the Severn. 
Hence that verse, — but who wrote it nobody- 
knows, — 

"The Avon to the Severn runs, 
The Severn to the sea; 
And Wickliffe's dust shall spread abroad, 
Wide as the waters be.'' 

But printing had not yet been discovered, 
and Wickliffe's Bible was copied on paper and 
vellum just as before, and so it never reached 
the common people. Then came Purvey's 
translation, four years later, and about the same 
as Wickliffe's ; and then, a hundred years and 
more later, Tyndale made another translation. 
Printing had just been discovered, and he went 
to Cologne and Worms, where he brought it 
out in type, little by little. When he took it to 
England it caused a great uproar and excite- 
ment. Everybody who could read and could 
get hold of it, read it ; and it was said that if 
three men were seen talking together on the 
street, it was safe to say they were talking of 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 83 

Tyndale's Bible. But this Bible was only the 
New Testament, and the Pentateuch, or the 
first five books of the Old Testament. But in 
1535, not long after, — indeed, he was at work 
translating at the same time with Tyndale, — 
Miles Coverdale brought out the whole Bible. 
This too was printed out of England, — in 
Antwerp. The first entire printed English 
Bible was eleven and three-quarters inches 
long and eight inches wide, and was printed in 
1535, as I said, and again in 1537, under the 
patronage of the King. Other Bibles were 
printed, such as Matthew's and Taverner's 
and the " Great Bible," brought out under 
Henry VIII., and costing thirty dollars, and 
the " Geneva Bible," which was much cheaper, 
published in the time of Queen Mary. This 
continued to be used for two generations. 
Then, under Queen Elizabeth, the u Bishop's 
Bible" was printed; and finally, in 161 1, the 
King James version, which is the one used up 
to the present day. It is a long time, you see, 
that this has been in use, — two hundred and 
seventy years. The reason is, that the transla- 
tion was done so well, and that the language 



84 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

has changed but little since. If you were to 
meet an Englishman of the time of Wickliffe, 
you could hardly understand him, but you 
could converse without trouble with those who 
lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth and King 
James. This translation was made by a large 
body of very learned men, and occupied seven 
years ; but, good as it was, the people were so 
much attached to the Geneva and Bishop's 
Bibles that it was forty years before it came 
into general use, though it had the sanction of 
the King and the Church. 

You are now all ready to ask why we have 
just had another translation, or rather revision, 
made. It is not a month since the New Ver- 
sion was published, and already millions of 
copies have been sold, and there is hardly a 
man, woman, or child in England or America 
that has not at least seen it. I think I can tell 
you some of the reasons. 

1. The language has changed a little, and 
some words in the Bible now mean exactly 
the opposite of what they meant in 161 1. 
For example, " let," which now means to permit, 
then meant to hinder. Look at Romans i. 1 3, 



THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 85 

and you will see that the old version says just 
what St. Paul did not mean. 

2. Though the translation was good, it was 
not so good as might be. Those old scholars 
did not always get the tenses of the verbs cor- 
rectly, and they also let their prejudices affect 
their choice of words, — that is, they did not give 
the exact meaning of the Greek, but a meaning 
that favored their private views. 

3. Since then, Tischendorf has discovered 
the great Sinaitic Manuscript, and other dis- 
coveries have been made, so that we know far 
better, to-day, what the original Greek Testa- 
ment was than did the scholars of 1611. 

Now, we may like or dislike the New Version, 
it may sound strange and all that ; but when we 
read it, we get more nearly the exact meaning 
of w T hat Sts. Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and 
Paul wrote than we do in the King James ver- 
sion. It was made by the most learned men in 
England and America, and has taken about 
ten years. It does not change the meaning 
very much, but it makes it clearer. In some 
way it seems to take hold of the mind more 
sharply, and one has more of the feeling that 



86 THE STORY OF THE BOOK. 

he is reading something that was actually said 
and done. But I must confess I do not think 
it is quite so rich and beautiful as the old 
version. 

If you ask, Had I better use it? I an- 
swer, By all means have a copy of your own, 
and read it along with the old version, to see 
the changes. But it does not much matter 
which you read, if you will read one. They 
mean the same ; they tell us of the same Fa- 
ther in Heaven, and of the same Saviour and 
Master; they point out the same path of duty; 
they reveal the same heaven. 

Two men, while on a sea-voyage, were one 
day conversing as to what book they would 
choose if they should chance to be wrecked on 
some island, and could have but one. One said 
he would choose Shakspeare ; the other said, " I 
would choose the Bible, — there is no end to 
that bookr There is this strange and wonder- 
ful thing about it, that we never get to the end 
of it ; and the reason must be that it tells of 
endless things. 



i882. 
FOUR JEWELS. 



Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ; 
And so make life, death, and that vast forever 
One grand, sweet song. 

Charles Kingsley. 

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted ? 

Henry VI, Part II. ; iii. 2. 

Signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
On all deservers. 

Macbeth, i. 4. 




FOUR JEWELS. 

" Thou hast the dew of thy youth P 
Psalm ex. 3. 

E have had so much rain lately that 
we hardly need any dew ; but when 
the showers grow T less frequent, the 
heat increases, and the earth be- 
comes dry, and the flowers wither 
under the hot sun, and the corn shrivels, we 
shall begin to thank God for giving us his 
dew. 

Now, a dew is nothing but a very fine 
shower ; the drops are the same, but smaller. 
Whether they rise or fall is a question, though 
we have been so long used to speak of " falling 
dews," that I presume we shall keep on doing 
so. The process is somewhat like this : the 
air has moisture in it, — particles of water cut 
into fineness by the sun's rays as if by millions 
of sharp knives, and so light that they float 



90 FOUR JEWELS. 



in the air like bubbles, and perhaps they are 
bubbles ; but when the sun goes down, and 
these sharp knives stop playing upon them, 
they fall together and make a drop of dew. 
It is called condensation, which means growing 
thick and coming together, or a thickening 
together. It is a singular fact that the dew 
always goes where it is most needed, unless 
somebody or something shuts it away. The 
grass needs a great deal of moisture, and so 
it settles thickest in the grass. You might 
as well walk through the brook as through a 
good pasture, on a June morning, after a clear 
night. All leaves need moisture. Each one 
has innumerable little throats, and very thirsty 
ones, that drink sunshine all day and dew all 
night, — the only topers we care to have any- 
thing to do with, and very harmless ones, as 
they are chiefly water-drinkers. Now in Syria, 
where this Psalm was written, very little rain 
falls in summer, and the dew has all the work 
to do in watering the grain and trees and 
plants. All day the wind blows from the Med- 
iterranean, bearing on its wings invisible bits of 
moisture gathered from the waves ; and when 



FOUR JEWELS. 9 1 



the sun goes down, the little particles rush to- 
gether, and drop or form on every leaf and 
twig and spear of growing grain, creeping into 
the olive-trees, trickling down to the roots of 
the rose of Sharon, bathing the great cedars 
of Lebanon in clouds of mist, and becoming 
almost a rain on Hermon. Very beautiful was 
the dew to those old Jews. They not only 
knew there would be no olives, nor wheat, nor 
grapes, without the dew ; but they went farther 
in their thought, and saw the beauty of the 
dew, for nature is never so beautiful as when 
clothed in dew in the morning. I am not 
going to describe it to you, but I want you, 
some morning, to go into a garden, or, better, 
off upon the hills, and see what the dew does, 
and how much finer everything looks than it 
does after it is dried away. The dew speaks 
to two of our senses, — the smell and the 
sight. In the evening it falls on the blossoms 
and dissolves the waxy substance that holds 
their perfume, so that it floats away and 
reaches our nostrils. Flowers smell sweetest in 
the night, when we cannot see them. The 
sense of smell is our weakest sense ; and so it 



92 FOUR JEWELS. 



uses the darkness, when the attention is not 
diverted by sight, which is our strongest sense. 
Now is not this a very wonderful arrange- 
ment ? But when morning comes, the dew, 
hanging on every leaf and flower-petal, — the 
only pendent jewel that seems to me beautiful 
or appropriate, — arrests our sense of sight, 
so that we care less for the perfume. 

The main feeling that the dew awakens in 
us is that of freshness. The dew freshens 
everything, — makes everything seem new and 
young. Now this last word is just what I have 
been aiming at all along. The dew makes 
all things seem young. The morning is the 
youth of the day, — the dew makes it seem 
so, — and so David said, " Thou hast the dew of 
thy youth." What he meant is, that one has 
a certain freshness and beauty and strength 
and opportunity in youth. I think I might con- 
dense this, — just as scattered bits of moisture 
are condensed into a drop of dew, — and say 
that youth is opportunity. And this is the 
one thing I wish to impress on you to-day, — 
that youth is opportunity to do something and 
to become somebody. 



FOUR JEWELS. 93 



This opportunity belongs only to the young. 
When one becomes a man or woman, the full 
opportunity is gone ; one must, for the most 
part, remain what one is, and keep on doing 
what one begins to do. I do not see much 
change in people after they get to be twenty- 
five or thirty, except going on in the way they 
started. And it does not require much of a 
prophet to foretell the character and career of 
people when they have come to adult years. 
As I look over those with whom I grew up, 
they have turned out just about as they began. 
Now is your opportunity ; now is your chance 
to become the men and women you wish to 
be ; now is your time for beginning to do 
those things that you expect to do in all your 
coming years. But the thing that I am most 
concerned about is your character, because, 
sooner or later, everything turns on that. I do 
not mean merely that if one is vicious or indo- 
lent or low, one will make a failure of life, — 
everybody knows that, — but rather, that unless 
one early becomes fixed in certain high princi- 
ples of conduct and feeling, one will not only 
never attain to them, but will turn out badly. 



94 FOUR JEWELS. 



There is a great deal that might be said on 
this subject, but I will speak only of four 
things that seem to me to lie at the roots of 
all high character and attainment, and so I will 
give you four rules in regard to them ; but, as 
I wish them to go a little deeper than rules, 
I will call them principles, — habits of feeling 
and thinking, as well as mere ways of acting. 
These rules or principles may seem to you 
quite commonplace, but that is the very reason 
they are important. 

i. Learn to love and to speak the truth, and 
to hate a lie. 

I consider the tendency to, or the habit of, 
lying the worst and most surely fatal sign 
that a young person can show. I know that 
very young children sometimes are untruthful, 
before the conscience awakes ; but if, later on, 
they incline to lie, or to deceive, or to hide 
the truth, their future is very dark. I would 
rather a boy or girl of eight or ten would show 
any other evil tendency than that of deception. 
There are reasons for this that you cannot yet 
fully understand, such as these: society rests 



FOUR JEWELS. 95 



upon truth, and a liar is an enemy of society, 
and renders it impossible, — the world could not 
hold together if all were liars ; lying destroys 
what we call character, — a liar at last gets to 
be without character ; he may possibly be hon- 
est and pure in his other habits, but he has no 
character, because the habit of lying blots it 
out, and brings him into a state where he can- 
not tell the difference between right and wrong. 
A man may steal, and he will always know that 
stealing is wrong ; or get drunk, and he will 
always know and feel that it is wicked and 
debasing ; but the habit of lying brings one 
into a state in which one does not know and 
feel it to be wrong, and at last into such a con- 
dition that one cannot tell the difference be- 
tween the truth and a lie. It just destroys 
character; it is a sort of dry rot, such as we 
sometimes see in timber, — it looks sound and 
fair on the outside, but you can crush it in 
your hand. A liar seems to me just this, — 
hollow, without substance or reality; lay hold 
of him with strong, honest hands, and he crum- 
bles into dust and nothingness. A liar comes 
the nearest to being nobody of all evil-doers, 



96 FOUR JEWELS. 



for the simple reason that lying takes away 
from a man everything that goes to make up a 
man. In some way it seems to empty him of 
every other good quality. Hence " liar " is the 
w T orst name that can be given a person. Now, a 
liar is simply one who tells lies, any sort of lies, 
for any reason or to any person. Young peo- 
ple sometimes justify themselves in telling cer- 
tain kinds of lies and to certain persons. They 
will tell fibs to escape detection and punish- 
ment when parents or employers seem to be 
severe and exacting ; lies to get out of scrapes ; 
lies to teachers, as though they were not so bad 
as if told to others. And this is often regarded 
as smart and keen ; but it is all, from first to 
last, very bad and weak business, and, so far 
from being smart or keen, is very dull and 
stupid. But you say, " Do not smart and keen 
men lie ? " Yes, smart and keen just as snakes 
are, and as venomous and disgusting, and as 
sure to have their heads crushed whenever 
they come near the heel of an honest man. 

Now, the rule I wish to offer you is this : 
Never suffer yourself, for any reason, to utter 
an untruth to any person. Settle it with your- 



FOUR JEWELS. 97 



self that, come what will, you will never lie. 
If telling the truth brings punishment, bear it 
like a man, — that is the way to become a 
man ; lying is the way to undo manhood. If 
telling the truth turns you out of school, or 
out of a situation, or out of doors, tell it and 
take the consequences ; they will not, in the 
long run, be so bad as the consequences of 
lying. 

" Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod ; 
Dare to be true. Nothing can need a lie ; 
A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby." 

But I want you to carry the matter a little 
farther. Learn to hate a lie and to despise a 
liar; learn to love truth, and to be proud of 
yourself as one who will not condescend to lie. 
Truthfulness is a sort of moral neatness and 
cleanliness. When young people get to be 
about twelve or fourteen, they begin to be very 
particular about their dress and appearance ; 
they are troubled if their clothes are soiled or 
ill-shaped, and, commonly, they begin to be par- 
ticular as to the cleanliness of their persons, — 
face and hands, and nails and teeth : it is a 

7 



98 FOUR JEWELS. 



good thing and a good sign ; it shows self- 
respect. 

Now, truthfulness is just the same sort of 
thing in character. A liar is clothed in moral 
rags, and defiled with filth throughout. The 
dress, the fresh suits, the jewelry, the white 
hands and teeth, the artistically arranged hair, — 
these go for nothing if there is a spirit or habit 
of deception ; if you say one thing and mean 
another; if you give false excuses; if, under 
some stress, you utter falsehoods ; if you tol- 
erate in yourself a low standard of truth- 
telling. I think there is hardly anything in this 
world so beautiful as a thoroughly truthful 
child ; nothing nobler than a young man who 
has made up his mind that, come what will, he 
will not lie ; nothing so lovely as a young girl 
whose every word is in keeping with strictest 
truth. The straightest, surest path to respect 
and confidence and success is through truth; 
and the straightest, shortest path to failure is 
through falsehood. No liar ever long pros- 
pered in this world, and there is no fate in the 
next world so fearfully pictured as the part of 
liars. 



FOUR JEWELS. 99 



2. Learn to hate all impurity or indelicacy 
of thought or speech or conduct. 

God has put into all of us a sense of mod- 
esty ; it is both a grace and a protection. 
Nearly all I can say on this subject is this: 
respect and obey to the uttermost this divine 
law of modesty that you find in your minds; 
it is God's voice within you. I am sorry to 
say that young persons often make false dis- 
tinctions on this subject. They will say to 
one another what they would not say to their 
parents ; they will sometimes do that which 
they would blush to have known ; they will 
read books and papers in secret that they know 
are unfit to be read and looked at ; they indulge 
their imagination in thoughts that they would 
not utter ; they will go just so far, but no farther. 
Now, there is but one rule on this subject for 
everybody, — boys and girls, men and women, 
old and young, — and that is, keep a rigorous 
control over yourself in this matter, I might 
put it in another form : respect yourself. Have 
a rule about it ; don't speak of, don't listen to, 
don't read, don't countenance, anything for- 
bidden by this law of modesty and purity. It 



IOO FOUR JEWELS. 



is the glory of a man to have clean lips and a 
clean mind; it is the glory of a woman not to 
know evil even in her thoughts. 

There is a border-land of simple delicacy 
lying between purity and vice, where young 
people sometimes feel at liberty to wander 
farther than is best. The touch is not so re- 
spectful as it ought to be, and, if too familiar, 
is not resented so proudly as it ought to be. 
Young people often wander about rather care- 
lessly in this border-land, and come to no visible 
harm ; but, after all, we do not like to see the 
down rubbed off from a peach, or even one 
petal of a rose crushed, or ever so slight a 
stain within the cup of a lily. But there is no 
fruit or flower in the world so sacredly beau- 
tiful as young womanhood, or deserves so 
delicate care to keep its glory and perfection. 
There is no treasure in this world so rich as 
the consciousness of utter purity ; and in order 
to have it, one must keep one's self free from 
any contact that even seems to sully it. A 
woman should not only respect, but venerate 
herself as sacred, and therefore not to be 
touched, or spoken to, or treated otherwise than 



FOUR JEWELS. IOI 



accords with this sacred purity. And a fine 
manliness shows itself in nothing more clearly 
than in a chivalrous respect for woman, — treat- 
ing her always, and in every instance, with a 
delicacy that reaches to reverence. 

3. The third rule is about honor. 

I mean very nearly what you mean when 
you speak of fairness, — the opposite of what 
you call meanness, — only I think honor a some- 
what better and nobler word. For the most 
part, young people have a pretty keen sense of 
honor, so that the main thing is to keep it fresh 
and active. But it is something also that needs 
to be used with intelligence. There is such a 
thing as a false standard of honor, and it is apt 
to get mixed up with pride and conceit. Some- 
times we are honorable and chivalrous to our set, 
and unfair or ungenerous to others, or to those 
beneath us, — though none are really beneath 
us. True honor makes us honorable to every 
human being, and even to animals. If I were 
to define it, I would say it is, first, a fine sense 
of self-respect, and then an equally fine sense 
of respect for others and their rights. Don't 



102 FOUR JEWELS. 



pay much attention to your own rights, but be 
very careful about the rights of others. I wish 
all the older ones of the young people here 
would read the " Idyls of the King" by Tenny- 
son, just to get filled with the spirit of nobility 
that pervades them, — especially as seen in King 
Arthur. And I would not object if the older 
boys were to read Thackeray's " Newcomes," in 
order to get a true picture of a gentleman. I 
myself am very fond of John Ridd in " Lorna 
Doone." It is a great thing for a young man 
to come into contact — either personally or 
through a book — with a man of high and 
noble honor. I do not mean one of these com- 
mon creatures who manages to dress well, and 
spends his spare time at a club, and bets on 
horse-races ? and drinks in what he calls a gen- 
tlemanly way, and gambles in what he calls 
a gentlemanly way, — this common individual 
is the farthest from being a gentleman ; but I 
mean a Sir Galahad or a Colonel Newcome. 
I mean the man who respects himself too much 
to drink at a bar, or in a club-room, or in the 
way of " treats ;" who has too high a sense of 
the rights of others to take their money on a 



FOUR JEWELS. ICT 



wager, whether won by a race or by cards or 
at a billiard table ; who is kind and truthful and 
pure; who would lose his right hand sooner 
than do an unfair or mean thing ; — it is a great 
thing for a young person to come near, and 
feel the influence of, such a man. 

I think that no one so utterly forfeits his 
character for honor, as one who in any way 
gambles. Betting is the most vulgar of all 
vulgar things. To put the money of another 
man in your pocket as the result of a wager or 
a game of chance, is something that no self- 
respecting man will do. " But do they not 
do it ? " you ask. No ; the habit puts one out 
of the class known as gentlemen. Of course, 
it should go deeper than this, and become a 
principle, — a matter of right and wrong. To 
take another's money — as gamblers do — is 
next door to theft. We may take money as a 
gift, if there is just ground for it, — though we 
ought to be rather shy of that, — but to take it 
by outwitting somebody, or by an appeal to 
chance, has in it the very essence of dishonor 
and meanness. There is hardly any vice that 
so eats away manliness as gambling. Drunk- 



104 FOUR JEWELS. 



enness makes worse havoc with the body, but it 
leaves one more a man. 

But a fine sense of honor covers other things. 
It shuts off gossip and backbiting and insin- 
cerity, and all small and petty ways in social 
intercourse and business. It teaches one to re- 
spect others, and keeps one from prying into 
the affairs of others, from suspicion and exclu- 
siveness, from disdainful ways and revenge and 
hatred. It utterly forbids tale-bearing, and 
" telling of others," and, of course, all untruth- 
fulness. 

This sense of honor is not something that 
you can put on and lay off; it must be culti- 
vated, and it can only spring from a kind, true, 
generous, brave heart. If one has not this, or 
will not get one by care and thought and will, 
there is not much that can be done for him, and 
not much but ill can be expected of him. 

4. The last thing I will name is reverence. 
This is a very high and beautiful quality, and 
the greatest ; some poet calls it " the mother of 
all virtues," and I think he is right. I will not 
stop to analyze it, but will only say, in a word, 



FOUR JEWELS. 105 



what it will lead you to do. It will keep you 
from all profanity ; it will lead you to speak the 
name of God quietly ; to respect all worship, 
and all expression of religious feeling ; to treat 
all sacred things in a careful and delicate way; 
to respect the aged, the good, the wise, and 
those in high position ; it will keep you from 
scoffing, from ridicule, from contempt of others, 
because God made them. 

It is a fortunate thing if a young person 
comes into the world with a strong natural 
sense of reverence. It is the richest soil of the 
human mind ; all good things grow in it, and it 
is a soil in which hardly any weed can find root, 
and the things that grow in it will last forever, 
because it is God's garden, and He never suffers 
any of His fruits and flowers to perish. 

I shall not soon look into your faces again, — 
not for three months at least, — but, as I say 
" good-by " for the summer, let me add to my 
good wishes for your health and pleasure, the 
request that you will think of and remember 
these four things as the foundation of char- 
acter, — Truth, Purity, Honor, Reverence. 



i88 3 . 

THE GOOD, THE BETTER, 
THE BEST. 



A flower, when offered in the bud, 
Is no vain sacrifice. 

Watts: Song XIL 

Look up and not down ; 
Look forward and not back ; 
Look out and not in ; 
And lend a hand. 

Motto of the Harry Wadsworth Club. 

Bless my children with healthful bodies, with good un- 
derstandings, with the gifts and graces of thy Spirit, with 
sweet dispositions and holy habits, and sanctify them through- 
out in their bodies and souls and spirits, and keep them 
unblamable to the coming of the Lord Jesus. Amen. 

Jeremy Taylor : Holy Living. 



VI. 



THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. 



" In all things I gave you an example, how that so laboring 
ye ought to help the weak, and to remember the words of the 
Lord Jesus, how He himself said, It is more blessed to give 
than to receive" 

Acts xx. 35. 




OU all know something about the 
Koran, — at least, that it was writ- 
ten by Mahomet. If you were to 
read it, I presume you would find 
the greater part very dull, some 
parts of it quite absurd, and no part of it 
at all equal to the Bible ; it is not so inter- 
esting, nor so beautiful, and certainly not so 
true. And yet there are many people who 
hold it in as great reverence as we do the 
Bible. They do not care to have any other 
book, and oppose writing and printing any 
others, using this singular logic : " If they con- 
tradict anything in the Koran, they are not 



HO THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. 

true; and if they say anything that is true that 
is not in the Koran, it is unimportant." Years 
ago I happened to read this saying of the 
Arabs : " Destroy not a piece of white paper, 
for a verse of the Koran might be written on 
it." And to this day I cannot readily bring 
myself to throw away the smallest bit of white 
paper ; for I say to myself, ' : Upon it might 
be written some inspiring truth, or some word 
of divine comfort or human love." A friend 
once told me that her father, though a man 
of wealth, could not endure to see even a 
crumb of bread wasted, because in early life 
he had been wrecked on the coast of Arabia, 
and had wandered in a starving condition over 
the hot desert for days, when a morsel of bread 
would have been more precious to him than 
all the wealth of his wrecked ship. So here, 
already in our sermon, we come across a two- 
fold lesson : Don't waste white paper, — you 
might write on it one of the Beatitudes of 
Christ ; don't waste a bit of bread, — it might 
feed some hungry child. Waste is a sort of 
selfishness; it is forgetfulness of the wants of 
others. 



THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. I I I 

i. But we began to talk about the Koran. 
Yesterday I came across a saying of Mahomet, 
— I presume it is in the Koran, — " If I had but 
two loaves of bread, I would sell one and buy 
hyacinths, for they would feed my soul." Now, 
Mahomet said a very wise thing in this poet- 
ical remark ; it is very like what we ourselves 
are doing to-day in heaping up these flowers 
about us. You must not take it literally; he 
did not mean exactly that if a poor man had 
but two loaves of bread, — and Eastern loaves 
are not so large as ours, — he had better sell 
one and buy some flowers to smell and look 
at while he ate the other loaf. This might be 
very unwise, and leave him the next morning 
without a breakfast and with only faded and 
odorless hyacinths. Mahomet meant that it was 
not wise to spend all one's money and strength 
and time upon one's body. If I were speaking 
to older persons, I would say, the external life ; 
but to you I say the body, and I mean by that, 
dress, and nice things to eat and drink, and 
pleasure. I would not use everything I have to 
get these, but would use a part to get something 
that would do my mind and heart good. 



112 THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. 

Now, I fear — indeed, I know — that many 
young persons care for little except these three 
things ; and boys and girls are much alike in 
regard to them. As to dress they want the 
most and the finest they can get, and often 
without much regard to the ability of their 
parents to provide it. Father may wear rusty 
clothes and last year's hat and patched boots, 
and mother go clothed in plain and home-made 
garments and featherless bonnets ; but the 
boys and the girls must have the newest and 
the gayest and the finest of everything they 
can possibly command. Now, where there is 
occasion for economy, I think there is some- 
thing wrong when a boy dresses better than 
his father, or a daughter than her mother ; but 
however this may be, it is a great mistake for 
young people to spend a large part of what 
they have to spend on their dress. It does not 
matter whether you earn your money yourself 
or it is allowed you, — when it all goes to dress 
and decorate the body, it is a great mistake. 
And the same is true about eating and drink- 
ing. I have not forgotten what a young ap- 
petite is, nor how sweet is candy, nor how 



THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. I 1 3 

refreshing are ices and soda in these hot days. 
I know what that generous feeling is that 
prompts one to treat friends, and that even 
keener joy of sharing your pleasure in these 
things with others. I do not condemn them ; 
but I say, do not use all, nor half, nor quarter of 
what you have, for such things and in these 
ways. Keep the large balance for something 
else that I shall tell you of presently. 

So, too, of pleasure generally. It seems to 
me the whole world, especially the young 
world, is running to pleasure. And I do not 
object to that, only I would have it pleasure of 
the right kind and got in the best way. I 
think we all ought to be very shy of costly 
pleasures, and we ought to spend but little 
money on our pleasures. I do not care how 
pure the pleasure may be, if it costs any con- 
siderable part of your money you must pass 
it by. One is on the road to all sorts of ruin 
who spends much for what we call pleasure ; 
it empties not only the purse, but the mind, 
and at last the heart, and finally turns the body 
into a jaded and w T orn-out thing. No ; if you 
have but two loaves of bread, sell one and buy 



114 THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. 

hyacinths for your soul ; if you have only so 
much money, use but a small part of it for 
dress, for nice things to eat and drink, for 
pleasure, and use the greater part for getting 
what will do your mind and heart good. 

But you ask : What exactly do you mean ? 
I mean, among other things, this : instead of 
getting the finest possible dress, or taking ex- 
pensive drives (a good tramp over the hills is 
better), or eating costly ices and endless con- 
fections, buy some good book, — a real, true 
book, well printed and bound, — and consider 
that you have sold bread and bought hya- 
cinths, — that you have got something that 
will feed your mind. Or buy a picture, — a 
good copy of some real work of art, — a St. 
Cecilia listening to the angelic choirs, or 
St. George beating down the dragon with the 
spear of truth. This will feed your soul with 
thoughts sweet as the odors of hyacinths, and 
strengthen your heart with the bread of beauty 
and of truth. 

I might mention other things ; but what I 
want to urge on you young people who are so 
beset by temptations to throw all your life and 



THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. I 1 5 

thought and resources into pleasure of one 
sort and another, is this : have regard to your 
higher nature, spend for that ; feed your mind 
with knowledge ; keep your heart well sup- 
plied with such things as are beautiful and 
sweet and divine. 

It was said of Wordsworth, — and I wish 
the young people here would put the phrase 
away in their minds as a kind of watchword, — 
it was said by Walter Scott, after a visit to 
Wordsworth, — that he found in his home 
" plain living, but high thinking." You cannot 
have a better motto than this. Let the living 
go, — the manner and degree of it, — let that be 
as it justly may; but see to it that the thinking 
be high, — first pure, then earnest, dignified, 
serious, careful, and lofty in spirit and purpose. 
Shakspeare said nearly the same in one strong 
line, — 

" Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift." 

2. I now go a step higher, and quote a say- 
ing of a wiser man than Mahomet. Cyrus, the 
Persian, used to send his friends half-jars of 
wine, with the message that "Cyrus has not 



Il6 THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. 

for some time tasted any sweeter, and therefore 
wishes you also to drink it." I think you will 
agree with me that this is more beautiful than 
the remark of Mahomet. One tells us to 
think of ourselves ; the other leads us into 
sympathetic thought of others. To treat self 
in the highest fashion is a wise and important 
thing; but one may do this, and yet be very 
unlovely and hard. It may be but a sort of 
refined and exalted selfishness ; but this habit 
and word of Cyrus goes half-way, at least, 
towards the very highest Christian truth ; it 
marks the point where natural feeling shades 
off into Christian principle. You know it is 
thought of Cyrus that he is one of those " out- 
side saints " who constitute a part of God's 
great family ; for God said of him, " I have 
called thee by thy name ; I have surnamed 
thee, though thou hast not known me." He 
was a great statesman and benefactor, and a 
friend of the Jewish nation ; he provided Ezra 
with money and men to go back to Jerusalem 
and rebuild the temple ; and he confessed that 
"the God of Israel, He is God." All these 
things showed his greatness and goodness ; but 



THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. I 1 7 

this habit of dividing his good things with his 
friends reveals a still finer side of his character. 

I think very highly of that quality and virtue 
that we call generosity ; but to have it perfect, 
it must be mixed with sympathy. Giving good 
things to others because you wish them to en- 
joy what you enjoy, — what is more beautiful? 
What purer human joy is there than to go out 
into an orchard on some fair day in late sum- 
mer and pluck a peach ripe, cool, and dewy 
with the breath of the morning, and, dividing 
it, give the better half to one you love best? 
or, in these June days, to gather a double- 
budded rose, — one for your friend and one 
for yourself? I think almost everything is to 
be hoped for one in the way of character who, 
when he enjoys a good thing, feels this strong 
and natural desire to share it with another. 

Now the lesson is this : Share your good 
things; don't be mean; don't get off by your- 
self and enjoy alone whatever good thing you 
may happen to have ; don't be satisfied with 
any pleasure that stops with yourself. If there 
is any fine thing to see or know, — a good 
book, a rainbow or a sunset, a basket of fruit, 



Il8 THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. 

the sweets which the doctors tell us we had 
better not eat at all, — anything and every- 
thing that is good and can be shared, divide it, 
and give a part to some one else. There is a 
divine arithmetic by which what we thus divide 
is doubled to us, — half as much, but twice 
more ! 

3. I come now to words better than any 
spoken by Mahomet or Cyrus, and I do not 
know of any better ever uttered in this world : 
" Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how 
He himself said, It is more blessed to give than 
to receive." " Yes," let us all say, " dear Lord, 
we will remember thy words ; they shall be 
bound up in our memories with these flowers, 
these glad hymns, this day of June beauty, this 
happy festival." 

It is a good thing, as Mahomet said, to buy 
hyacinths, — to feed the soul as well as the 
body; it is a better thing to share our good 
things with others, as Cyrus did ; but it is far 
higher, and something quite different, simply 
to give without any sharing or any receiving in 
return. This is Christian ; this is divine. You 



THE GOOD, THE BETTER, THE BEST. II9 

need not forget the first, and you must not 
neglect the second; but think most of this. 

And so I have tried to lead you on from the 
Good to the Better, and then to the Best, — 
the Good for self alone, the Better for self 
and others, the Best for others without much 
thought of yourself. I do not expect that you 
will get as far as the last all at once ; but I want 
you to keep it in mind, and remember, as St. 
Paul tells us, that our dear Lord put it before 
us as the best way of living and acting, and 
therefore the happiest way. 



1884. 

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 



Vice it is possible to find in abundance and with ease ; 
for the way to it is smooth, and lies very near. But before 
the temple of Virtue the immortal gods have placed labor, 
and the way to it is long and steep, and at the commence- 
ment rough ; but when the traveller has arrived at the summit, 
it then becomes easy, however difficult it was at first. 

Hesiod, quoted in the Memorabilia, ii. i. 

When some one asked Socrates what object of study he 
thought best for a man, he replied, " Good conduct.'' When 
he asked him again whether he thought " good fortune " an 
object of study, he answered : " Fortune and Conduct I think 
entirely opposed ; for, for a person to light on anything that 
he wants without seeking it, I consider to be 'good fortune,' 
but to achieve anything successfully by learning and study, 
I regard as ' good conduct ; ' and those who make this their 
object of study appear to me to do well." 

Memorabilia, iii. 9. 

An idler is a watch that wants both hands ; 
As useless if it goes as if it stands. 

Cowper : Retirement. 

Love Virtue : she alone is free. 
She can teach you how to climb 
Higher than the sphery chime ; 
Or if Virtue feeble were 
Heav'n itself would stoop to her. 

Milton : Co7?ms. 




VII. 

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

"He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in 
much" 

St. Luke xvi. 10. 

HE sermon this year will be ad- 
dressed to a somewhat older class 
than heretofore. In the six pre- 
vious years — for this is the sev- 
enth observance of our Festival — 
I have spoken to the children of the congre- 
gation ; but to-day I shall speak to the young 
people. And by young people I mean those 
who are past childhood, and old enough to 
consider what they will do and how they will 
do it. A child only dreams of life ; but when 
one gets to be sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen, 
one has some clear idea of the world and of 
one's own relation to it. It is to set you to 
thinking on this subject that I preach this 
sermon. 



124 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

So far as I have observed, there are two ways 
of living ; or, I might say, there are two plans 
of life, under one of which nearly every one 
can be ranged ; or, I might say, there are two 
ways of beginning life. 

One way is to come into this period of your 
life in a listless, thoughtless, careless way, as- 
suming no new responsibility, making no plans 
for yourself, and so drift on into manhood or 
womanhood without any clear desire or thought 
of what you want to become or to do, and with- 
out any purpose to become or do anything in 
particular, save some general wish or hope that 
somehow and by some means you will get on 
well. There are a great many persons who 
begin life in this way, and live on in it all their 
years ; and I fear they are on the increase. 
They get to be eighteen years of age, — old 
enough to think and plan and look ahead. 

" What are you going to do ? " 

" Oh, I don't know; time enough yet to 
settle that question." 

" But have you no special taste ? Is there 
no trade or profession or business that you 
would like to undertake ? " 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 1 25 

" Well, I suppose I shall have to do some- 
thing sometime, but I want a little fun before 
I go to work ; one can be young but once." 

" But have you not yet considered the matter 
of doing something in the world, — earning a 
position or a name, or filling some useful place 
in societv ? " 

11 No, I have n't bothered myself much about 
such things yet ; it will come along sometime. 
I guess I can do something if I try. Time 
enough yet." 

11 But when do you propose to begin to think 
and act earnestly about your life ? " 

" Well, I guess father will help me start in 
something when the time comes." 

" But possibly your father may not be able 
to help you. Besides, is it quite manly to rest 
back on him ? " 

" Oh, I don't mean to do that ; I guess I am 
as smart as the average, and can take care of 
myself." 

" But how do you propose to do it ? " 

" Oh, something will turn up ; there are lots 
of chances." 

I fear lest some of you may be starting in 



126 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

life with just such notions as these ; and it is a 
very bad way to start, because the same notions, 
the same idle, listless, thoughtless ways, are apt 
to follow one all through. I have watched the 
career of many such people. They get to be 
twenty, and have no plan or purpose ; but they 
must do something, and so they drop into the 
first situation that offers itself, without any con- 
sideration of their fitness for it. They take 
up their fathers occupation, though they may 
dislike it ; or get a clerkship, but with no pur- 
pose or conception of becoming a merchant ; 
or, driven by necessity, select some easy trade 
or drop into unskilled labor, but save nothing, 
learn nothing, and keep on in a listless way, 
hoping something better will turn up. By and 
by they marry. This requires them to work a 
little harder and to spend more carefully ; but 
the question is now settled, and poverty and 
drudgery are their lot in the future. When 
men undertake life without earnestness and 
definite purpose, and so assume its responsibili- 
ties and tasks, they seldom rise above the point 
from which they start. Life henceforth is on 
a low level and a descending scale, and it is apt 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 12 J 

to sink into vice, and to gather shame and end 
darkly. Only in the most exceptional cases 
does one, who at twenty is without earnest and 
definite purpose, reach any sort of success or 
good fortune. A person, boy or girl, who at 
this age is listless, careless, indifferent, easy- 
going, who is willing to remain dependent, who 
waits for chances, who trusts to luck without 
effort, — such a person will go on in that way 
to the end of life. The history of such per- 
sons is traced in lines of poverty, debt, struggle, 
abjectness, and degradation, — a down-hill path 
to the last. 

This is one way of beginning life, and the 
way of a great many. As a class, they are 
described as those who " don't amount to any- 
thing," — a very expressive phrase. Take one 
of them and look him over. Physically he is 
nerveless, slouching in his gait, without force 
or fire or energy, probably somewhat weakened 
by bad habits. Mentally he lacks intelligence, 
application, and knowledge, lives in a small 
circle of conceited ideas, dreams, shifts his posi- 
tion, goes with the crowd, and takes up with 
every new thing or stupidly holds on to every 



128 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

old thing, but is destitute of influence and is 
held in low esteem. Morally he is dull ; if he is 
religious he is fickle and weak, but more often 
he is indifferent to religion as something too 
high and strenuous. The middle years and old 
age of such men are very sad, but it is a history 
begun without purpose and without effort. 

A second way of beginning life, and upon 
the whole the best of all, is the way of fidelity. 
I name it by one word, but will state more fully 
what I mean. 

When a young person reaches that period of 
life when he begins to act for himself, when he 
is forced to undertake independent duties, the 
spirit he shows usually determines his career. 
It is described in common phrase as " the way 
he takes hold." Now, the spirit of fidelity is 
about the best, the most hopeful, and the surest 
that a young person can show. There is no 
one quality a wise parent, or teacher, or em- 
ployer is more glad to notice in a youth than 
this. He may not have the highest degree of 
intelligence, or talent, or force ; he may not be 
what is called "smart;" but if he shows the 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 1 29 

quality of fidelity, he gives better promise of a 
good future than he could in any other way. 
And by fidelity I mean, laying hold of and doing 
in an earnest, thorough, conscientious way the 
thing set before one. If in school the teacher 
sees that a pupil is conscientious and earnest, 
and tries hard to meet the requirements, he 
knows that such a pupil has the best elements 
of manhood. He may not be brilliant, but the 
teacher is surer of his future than of that of the 
brilliant pupil. So a parent or employer who 
notes in a young man this purpose resolutely 
and conscientiously to do his work just as well 
as he can, foresees a future for him more sure 
of good than any other qualities could indicate. 
It is often thought that smartness and great 
talent are the surest pledges of success ; but it 
is a mistake. The brilliant men in college do 
not reap the greatest rewards nor reach the 
highest positions. The conscientious and faith- 
ful workers, who perhaps were considered a 
little dull and prosy, commonly outstrip them. 
The clerk that can sell the most goods through 
his bright volubility shoots ahead of his slower, 
plodding, hard-working, faithful companion at 

9 



130 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

first, and gets started earlier in business ; but 
the other passes him in the long race of busi- 
ness life. Talent, gifts, special aptitude, genius, 
are good things, but they are not so sure signs 
of success as certain moral qualities, chief of 
which is fidelity ; for God has made the rewards 
of existence to depend not on chance, nor 
mainly on gifts, but on work. The gifted man 
may succeed ; but just because his power is a 
gift, and not an achievement, he may waste it. 
If I have great talent I may be tempted to trust 
to it and let work go : it is a very common 
mistake. But when a man steadily, faithfully, 
earnestly works at the thing given him to do, 
he stands in the only sure line of promotion 
and success, because things in this world are 
arranged in that way. 

So, upon the whole, I would rather see a 
young person starting in life in this way than 
in any other. It makes little difference what 
you do, provided it is decent and honest : it 
may be the lowest place in a store or office, or 
some work in these numerous mills, or your 
studies in school ; or it may be as an errand- 
boy, or doing certain duties at home. What- 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 131 

ever it is, do it well, — resolutely, cheerfully, 
conscientiously, proudly, and in a better way 
than is required. To make it quite plain ; sup- 
pose the work to be sweeping out and setting 
in order a store or office, or the care of a horse 
and stable, — a work that no boy need be 
ashamed of. Now, there are several ways and 
degrees of doing these things. There is the 
listless, indifferent, slipshod way, that calls out 
reproof, and so awakens ill-feeling ; and there 
is the fair, passable way, — the work is done 
tolerably well, but not with thoroughness and 
heartiness ; and there is a third way, in which 
the task is done even better than is required, — 
the store is cleaner, the office is more carefully 
set in order, the horse's coat is glossier and the 
stable sweeter, than the employer had reason 
to expect. And the work is done in a prompt, 
cheerful, wide-awake, hearty fashion, that speaks 
volum'es for the future. When a discerning 
father or employer sees such signs he knows 
what they foretell. The employer may say but 
little, because he wants to see how thoroughly 
ingrained the quality is ; but he waits and 
watches the significant process, and by and by 



132 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

when there is a chance to promote he has a 
man ready. It is reliable and faithful men — 
men who do their work cheerfully and conscien- 
tiously — who are called to higher places. In- 
telligence is necessary; but such men nearly 
always are intelligent, because they have the 
qualities that lead up to it. 

Fidelity is rather a homely virtue, but I assure 
you it takes a man through life in the best fash- 
ion, and it often lifts him very high. There are 
two great, universal names in this country that 
will never be forgotten, — Washington and Lin- 
coln. The secret of the lives of these men was 
fidelity, — doing the first and last thing they 
had to do in the best manner and as a matter 
of conscience. Neither of them had what is 
called genius, but they had an idea of attend- 
ing to the matter in hand to the best of their 
ability. When Washington was but sixteen he 
surveyed the vast estates of Lord Fairfax in 
Virginia, and his work is said to have been done 
in an excellent manner. And so he met every 
duty, — thinking little how it would affect him 
personally, and a great deal as to the best way 
of attending to the business in hand. 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 1 33 

This is equally true of President Lincoln. 
In whatever he undertook, — splitting rails, 
tending flat-boat, keeping post-office, practising 
law, stump-speaking, ruling over the armies 
and the nation, — the same single spirit of 
fidelity, doing the thing in hand to the best of 
his ability, was always to be seen. See how it 
lifted the man, and how firmly seated he is in 
the gratitude and veneration of the nation ! 
More than anything else it is due to the fact 
that when tremendous responsibilities rested on 
him, the people felt he could be trusted to do 
the right and true thing. Upon the whole, 
there is nothing people value more highly than 
fidelity, and there is nothing that is quite so 
sure to get its reward ; for fidelity is what the 
world needs, and because it needs it, it will pay 
for it in the coin of reward and honor. 

A more recent and equally striking example 
is that of " Chinese Gordon," who is now shut 
up in Khartoum, — one of the most remarkable 
men, and with the strangest history ever known. 
Beginning active life as an officer in the Eng- 
lish army, he was set first at one task and then 
another, commonly as a military engineer ; but 



134 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

in whatever he was sent to do he showed such 
a spirit of fidelity, and did his work in so thor- 
ough and capable a manner, that when some- 
thing greater was to be done, he was called to 
it ; and so he went up, steadily up. He was 
in China when its great rebellion was in pro- 
gress, — the most cruel and unreasonable war 
of modern times. A trained soldier was needed 
to put it down, and Gordon was allowed by 
England to enter the Chinese service for that 
purpose. In a series of campaigns that dis- 
played a military genius equal to and very 
like that of General Sherman, he destroyed 
the rebel armies, whose wickedness and cruelty 
had no limit, and so rendered the greatest ser- 
vice to humanity that the century has wit- 
nessed. The highest honors of the Chinese 
Empire were laid at his feet ; he was made a 
Mandarin of the first order. But he cared little 
for the honors or the treasures heaped upon 
him. He returned to England, and took some 
position at Gravesend, just below London, 
where he filled his house with boys from the 
streets, whom he taught and made men of, and 
then secured them places on ships, following 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 1 35 

them all over the world with letters of advice 
and encouragement. After a few years a gov- 
ernor was wanted for the Soudan, or Upper 
Egypt. He entered the service of the Khe- 
dive, established order in that wild region, 
broke up the slave-trade on the Nile, — but 
only by immense labors and exposure to fearful 
dangers. He returned to England ; but a false 
prophet having arisen in the Soudan and un- 
done his work, he was summoned back to do it 
again and destroy the false prophet. And there 
he is now, shut up in a fortified city, surrounded 
by wild and fanatical hordes ; but instead of 
hearing of his capture or death, we hear of his 
victories, until we have almost come to think 
that nothing can harm or withstand him. 1 The 
peculiarity of his career is that he has accom- 
plished so great results with so slight and poor 
means. But the secret of his success is the 
absolute fidelity of the man to the work he 
has undertaken. He seems to be devoid of 
ambition ; he cares nothing for praise or re- 
ward, and is indifferent to criticism. The only 
thing he seems to think of, is to do the thing 

1 October, 1884. 



I36 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

he has set his hand to. He is profoundly 
religious, has no fear of death, leads a bright, 
cheerful life, laughs at his critics, pities all who 
suffer, loves all men ; but above all, he means 
to be faithful to the task Providence sets be- 
fore him. There is something very beautiful 
in such a life. We cannot all come up to it, 
but we can all reach towards it, and can carry 
into our lives the same lofty spirit of fidelity. 
It is a great encouragement to young persons 
who stand facing life, to know that what is 
termed success does not depend upon talent, 
or special gifts, or fine chances. If it were so, 
it would be discouraging, because few have 
these special gifts or chances. Instead, suc- 
cess depends upon something that is open to 
all; for all can be faithful, — all can do their 
work in the best way possible to them. And 
God has arranged things in this world so that 
success follows from such efforts. 

I would like to put the matter in a higher 
lio-ht than that of success. That is not un- 
worthy, but you may connect with it a finer 
feeling. Consider what you owe to your family. 
Almost the happiest feeling possible to a father 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 1 37 

is in seeing his boys, as they approach man- 
hood, bravely taking up the labors of life in 
a faithful and conscientious way. And a 
thoughtful parent can hardly have a keener 
disappointment than to see a son who has 
come to manhood, resting upon him for sup- 
port, listless, critical and fastidious as to what 
he shall do, too proud to work, mindful only 
of his own pleasures, asking only for money, 
and with no disposition to do anything or to 
become anybody. These are the things that 
make parents and angels weep. I trust none 
of you will lapse into such a state as this. On 
the contrary, I hope you are on the alert to 
avoid such a state, and already feel a shudder 
of shame at the thought of it. 

Many of you are coming to what is called 
" the parting of the ways," — the time when 
the great decision of your life will be made. 
It is said of Hercules that when he was advanc- 
ing from boyhood to manhood, a period at 
which the young, becoming their own masters, 
begin to give intimation of what they will do 
and become, he went out into a solitary place 
and sat down to meditate which of the two 



I38 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

ways that were open before him he would take, 
— the easy, self-indulgent w r ay of pleasure, or 
the earnest and stern way of duty. He chose 
the right way, and then went on to do his 
twelve mighty labors. And so before every 
youth the two ways are open for inevitable 
choice. To-day you stand at the parting of the 
ways. What I want you to realize is, that 
just such a choice lies before you. When you 
get to be men in stature, the path of your 
life begins to divide. Heretofore there has 
been but one path, — the path of childhood, 
along which you have been led by parents ; 
but now your hand is beginning to be un- 
clasped from theirs and you must walk alone. 
And not only that, but the path divides into 
two, and you must decide which you will take ; 
for you cannot take both, nor easily cross from 
one into the other. Decide you must and will ; 
if you only keep on, you will find yourself in 
one or the other. One is the path of pleasure, 
of self-indulgence, of thoughtless gayety, of in- 
difference, of ease, of indolence, — a path of 
beauty and glitter and fascination at first, but 
leading into dark and tangled wildernesses 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 1 39 

where there is no pleasure nor beauty, but 
only fruitless strugglings and wild, hopeless 
wandering forever. The other path may be 
hard and stern at first, but soon it grows 
smooth and bright, and brings you good com- 
rades, and though strait is full of constant re- 
ward and the deepest satisfactions. This is 
no mere picture, but sober truth and fact ; and 
you cannot — each one of you for yourselves — 
consider it too earnestly. 

I wish that this day of beauty and sweetness 
might be marked and remembered by you as 
that which led you up to the choice of an 
earnest, noble, devoted life. I wish that it 
might go farther than a choice of mere ear- 
nestness in labor and of ambition for success. 
I like to see that ; but there is something I like 
better to see, and that is a life of devotion to 
the service of God in Jesus Christ. There is 
something far better worth thinking of than 
self and self -success ; and that is — others, and 
service for others. Oh that I could see spring- 
ing up in your minds that noble and lofty 
purpose which is the glory of true manhood 
and womanhood, — the purpose to make your 



140 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

life high and strong, and then to use it for the 
good of the world ! There are enough who are 
striving to get rich, and to earn that sort of 
success. Are there not some who will respond 
to the nobler ambition of becoming like Jesus 
Christ ; some who see the beauty and glory 
of a life of devotion to humanity ; some who 
are content to live for God and in God's ways ? 
Will you not all rise out of the crowd of 
pleasure-seekers and worldly strivers, and say, 
" As for me, I will live the devoted life ; I 
will serve ; I will live for goodness and to do 
good; I will content myself only with highest 
things and the highest aims ; I will live for 
God"? 



ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 



Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low ; an excellent thing in woman. 

Lear, v. 3. 

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
And every tongue brings in a several tale. 

King Richard III., v. 3. 

If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, 
and able also to bridle the whole body. 

St. James iii. 2. 

" Mr. Lincoln was much sought after as a counsel for the 
defendant in criminal cases, although his noted power over 
a jury passed away from him at once if he himself believed 
his client to be guilty. In one such case he remarked to his 
associate counsel : ' If you can say anything for the man, do 
it. I can't. If I attempt, the jury will see that I think he is 
guilty, and convict him of course.' " 




VIII. 
ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 

" Thy speech bewray eth thee. " 
St. Matthew xxvi. 73. 

HIS story of Peter's denial of his 
Master is a very sad one, and I 
do not know why it was put into 
the Bible unless it was to help us 
out of trouble when we do wrong 
things against those whom we love and who 
love us. For we are all tempted sometimes to 
do and say cruel and unjust things to our 
very best friends. Nobody loves you so well 
as your parents, and you love nobody else 
half so well ; and yet at times perhaps you 
say something to them that sounds as though 
you hated them, or you do something that 
looks as though you had no respect for them. 
You are very angry, and hardly know what you 
say, and they are deeply grieved ; but they only 
look at you with sad eyes, and leave you to 



144 0NE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 

your own thoughts. In a little while your 
anger passes away, and you begin to think 
over what you have said or done. Perhaps it 
is not till after you have gone to your bed. 
You gave your good-night kiss rather sullenly, 
and got one back that was very tender yet very 
sad ; but when all is still and dark about you, 
you begin to think the matter over. You have 
known all along that you had done wrong, and 
now you begin to feel ashamed, and soon to be 
sorry. And as you recall the bitter and angry 
words and the sad wondering look in your 
mother's face, and then think of all her love 
and care for you, you begin to weep, as Peter 
did when he went out into the dark night, and 
you say, " Can I ever forgive myself ? Will 
she ever love me again ? " Perhaps you say, 
" What if she should die to-night, before I 
could beg her forgiveness ! " Christ did die 
before Peter could tell him how he had wept 
over his denial ; but after the resurrection they 
talked it over in a very searching way, and 
Peter got back into the heart of his Master. 
Now, I think this story is put into the Bible 
to help us out of such troubles as Peter fell 



ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 1 45 



into ; it tells us that if we repent and confess, 
we shall be forgiven and loved still. 

But what I want to speak about now is 
Peter's language, and especially to show you 
how he said two things at the same time with 
one voice ; how the same words contradicted 
themselves and left Peter in a very foolish 
plight. 

All this happened, as you know, in Jerusa- 
lem, where Peter was a stranger. He had lived 
all his life in Galilee; and though he spoke 
the same language as that spoken in Jerusalem, 
it was with an accent, and in such a way as to 
show where he had lived. It was very much 
like a man from Yorkshire, in the North of 
England, going down to London, where the 
language is the same, but the moment he begins 
to speak everybody knows he came from York- 
shire. Now suppose he gets into some trouble 
and wants people to believe that he did not 
come from Yorkshire, and so denies that he 
was ever there ; says that he does not know 
anybody in Yorkshire, and that he has always 
lived in London. All about him know better, 
because his dialect betrays him. He forgets 



I46 ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 

that the very words with which he says, " I 
did not come from Yorkshire," also say, " I 
came from Yorkshire ; " for while we recognize 
plainly enough a dialect in other people, we 
seldom know that we have one. It was so 
with poor Peter. He was terribly frightened 
when he saw his Master arrested and led into 
the court-room, and he began to fear lest he 
too might be taken and put to death. He was 
brave enough at first, and would have killed 
anybody that dared to lay a hand on Christ; 
but when he saw the long rows of soldiers and 
the great palace standing out in the moonlight, 
and the angry crowd, his courage began to 
ooze away, and before he could escape he was 
recognized as one of the company that had 
come down with Jesus from Galilee. Now, see 
how Peter went on from bad to worse and at 
every step got farther into trouble. First, a 
maid said to him, " Thou also wast with Jesus 
the Galilean ; " and Peter simply answered, " I 
know not what thou sayest," — that is, I don't 
understand you. Then another maid said the 
same thing. This time he used an oath, and 
declared that he knows not the man ; he will 



ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 1 47 

not even name Jesus, but calls him simply 
a man, as though he had never before heard 
of him. After a little while others that stood 
by said, " There is no doubt about it ; you are 
one of them, for your speech, or dialect, proves 
it." Then Peter — driven to desperation by his 
fear and anger — began to curse and to swear 
that he did not know the man they were talk- 
ing about. First a simple denial, then an oath, 
then cursing ; and the more he said, the more 
clearly he showed that he was lying. For as 
he grew angry he talked more and more like 
a Galilean. A Scotchman often speaks quite 
like an Englishman ; but if he becomes excited 
in any way he falls back into his native dialect. 
It was probably so with Peter. Poor man ! 
He little thought that his tongue told two 
tales, and that they were contrary. He did not 
remember that behind the first, plain meaning 
of words lie other meanings almost as clear 
and always truer. Now, you may say, " I shall 
never get caught as Peter was, for I don't 
speak with a dialect." Well, I hope )'Ou will 
never be tempted to deceive and lie, whether 
you are caught or not. But let us go a little 



I48 ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 

farther into the matter, and if you will think 
with me, I will try to show you how our voices 
always tell a great deal more than we suppose, 
and always tell the truth. Have you ever no- 
ticed that the sound or voice of an animal 
shows its nature, and shows also the mood it 
is in ? If we were taking a tramp together over 
Hoosac some day in autumn, and suddenly 
should hear a heavy tread in the bushes and 
a deep, sullen growl, I think we should not 
wait long to see the bear, but would be satis- 
fied with having heard his voice, and leave him 
to go his way while we take another, and that 
as fast as might be. The growl spoke of feroc- 
ity. The bear has but one voice, because, in 
his wild state, he has but one temper, and that 
is fierce and dangerous. But a dog has sev- 
eral voices, because he has different moods. 
When he stands stock-still and growls, it means 
anger and fight. When he barks in a rapid, 
full-voiced way, it means fun and gladness. 
When he whines or how r ls, it shows that he is 
troubled in some way. A hunter can tell by 
the baying of his hounds how it is going with 
the game, — whether they are simply on the 



ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 1 49 

scent, or are in sight of the deer or fox, or are 
confused and don't know which way to run. 
All of you have watched and listened to birds ; 
but have you ever happened to be awake at 
about four o'clock on a summer morning, and 
heard them all singing together and at the 
top of their voices ? If you have, you said, 
11 They are glad the night is gone and day- 
light has come again ; " and perhaps you 
said, " They are praising God with a morning 
song." But during the day you have seen 
these same birds fluttering wildly about and 
uttering screams of terror ; a little one has 
fallen out of the nest or been seized bv a cat. 
If you were to go into the woods at night and 
listen to the sounds from birds and animals, 
you would not hear one joyful note except, 
possibly, from the song-sparrow, which is so 
happy a little creature that it wakes up at all 
hours and gives out a little peaceful song and 
goes to sleep again. But all other sounds are 
doleful, because they come from birds and ani- 
mals that prey on others. Now, I think it is 
a wonderful thing that God has made the voice 
in such a way that it reveals feeling and dis- 



I50 ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 

position and character. Every animal that 
utters a sound shows what sort of an animal it 
is, and what mood it is in ; and — what is more 
— it never tells any lies about it. A dog does 
not stand still and stiff and growl deeply when 
he is good-natured. The animals very seldom 
deceive, and — if we but knew it — that is one 
reason why we love them ; they are so truthful, 
and so exactly what they seem to be. Some- 
times, indeed, they learn to deceive a little, but 
for good reasons. Some of the weaker animals 
pretend to be dead when caught, for their 
instinct tells them that dead things are not 
wanted. A duck that is trying to protect its 
brood from the sportsman will flutter away in 
the opposite direction as if it had a broken 
wing, hoping he will follow it and so miss the 
little ones. But for the most part the animals 
never deceive ; that is left — well, for you and 
me, if we are foolish enough to attempt it. 
And foolish enough it is, because it is so useless. 
We try to deceive, but we almost never succeed ; 
because there is another voice that we do not 
hear, that speaks along with our tongue. We 
seldom can tell a lie, or put a thing wrong, 



ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. I 5 I 

in a clear, straightforward, ringing tone. We 
hesitate, and turn around, and look the other 
way, and a certain unconfident tone gets into 
the voice ; or we bluster, and repeat the same 
thing, and declare that we are ready to swear 
to it, and the like. I do not forget that Mr. 
Dickens says that a hardened liar will tell a lie 
with less confusion and a steadier countenance 
than a truthful, modest boy who has come 
under suspicion will tell the truth ; but I think 
if you were to look into their eyes, and watch 
their movements, and notice the tones and in- 
flections of their voices, you would find out 
which one is truthful. But now this matter 
goes a great deal farther. Our voices reveal 
our character, and show what mood we are 
in, and especially what we most think about ; 
they show also whether we are truly refined 
and gentle and well-bred, or are simply pre- 
tending to be such. I often meet people who 
have put on what they call good manners ; 
they speak softly and with many smiles, and 
are very yielding in their opinions. Well, it 
is quite natural to desire to please and to be 
thought well of, and I don't greatly blame such 



152 ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS 

people. It is better to assume good manners 
and pleasant tones than to act out all the 
roughness and gruffness and ill-humor you 
happen to have ; but it is better still not to 
have these qualities, and then speak naturally. 
For an assumed voice or manner sooner or 
later betrays itself. It is not our lips that 
speak, but our hearts ; and as life goes on, the 
heart teaches the lips to speak exactly what 
the heart feels and the mind thinks. I do not 
mean the words, but the thought and feeling 
behind the words. When a person gets to be 
forty years old, the voice and manner of speak- 
ing reveal perfectly the character and spirit of 
the man, and it is utterly useless for him to 
pretend to feelings and thoughts that he does 
not have. Every character has a voice of its 
own just as the animals have, and — strange 
enough — it is often like that of some animal. 
A rough, cross man growls in his speech like 
a bear ; a lazy, stupid man grunts like a pig ; 
a foolish, thoughtless person cackles like geese ; 
and a wicked, deceitful person often speaks in 
a way that makes one think of the hiss of a 
serpent. On the other hand, I have heard 



ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 1 53 

voices so sweet and gentle that I have thought 
of the murmuring of doves, and others so clear 
and true that I have thought of birds at their 
morning songs, and others so honest and brave 
that I could almost hear in them the baying 
of noble dogs. 

These are wonderful facts, and I think what 
I have said about them may be of great service 
to you if you will remember it ; for there is 
hardly anything that helps one along in life 
more than a gentle, firm, honest, sympathetic 
voice. It is more than beauty and brave bear- 
ing, and will go farther and last longer in 
winning and keeping friends. You cannot be 
taught it by elocutionists, nor can you assume 
it at will ; for it is your character, and not your 
training nor your will, that gives the quality 
to your voice. So you must look out for your 
character, and actually be what you would like 
to have thought of you ; for the way you habitu- 
ally feel, the way you most think, gets into the 
voice so that every time you speak you tell 
others what sort of a person you are. You 
have heard how an ostrich, when pursued by 
hunters, hides its head in the sand or in a bush, 



154 ONE VOICE, BUT TWO MEANINGS. 

thinking its whole body is hidden. Perhaps 
the poor bird cannot find a bush large enough 
to conceal its great body ; but in any case it is 
not more foolish than we are when we say one 
thing and mean another, or when we act and 
speak in a way that is contrary to our real 
feeling and thought. 

When you get older and are out in the 
world, there are three things that will be of 
great value to you, and will save you from 
most of the troubles that men and women fall 
into ; I mean simplicity, straightforwardness^ 
and truthfulness. Nine tenths of the troubles 
that people fall into come from the lack of 
these three things. But if you early get into 
the heart of these qualities and get them into 
your heart, you will have respect and love and 
confidence wherever you go, because everybody 
will hear them in the tones of your voice. 



LIGHT AND EYES. 



When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave 
To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 

The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and heave 
Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun. 

Give Him thy first thoughts then ; so shaft thou keep 

Him company all day, and in Him sleep. 

Henry Vaughan. 

Virtue could see to do what virtue would 
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 
Were in the flat sea sunk. . . . 
He that has light within his own clear breast 
May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day : 
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun : 
Himself is his own dungeon. 

Milton, Comus. 

God's goodness hath been great to thee : 
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
But still remember what the Lord hath done. 

King Henry VI., Part II. ; ii. i. 




IX. 

LIGHT AND EYES. 

" Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the 
eyes to behold the suti" 

ECCLESIASTES xi. 7. 

F it should happen to you to be- 
come blind, what would you most 
miss seeing ? If you are fond of 
reading, perhaps you would say, 
" Books ; " and I am half inclined 
to agree with you. But the blind have many 
books, — and some of the best, — printed in 
raised letters, which they read by the touch; 
for our five senses are made in such a way 
that if one is destroyed, the others strive to 
supply its place and do its work. If the eyes 
fail to see, the ears grow keen, and learn to 
measure distance by sound, and to tell the size 
of a room and almost what is in it by the echo 
of the voice ; and the sense of touch also be- 
comes so fine and delicate that a blind person 



I58 LIGHT AND EYES. 

can almost see with his fingers, and can move 
about in a house as freely as one with good 
eyes. If you try to go about in a dark house 
at night, you lose your way, and forget where 
is the bed, or the window, or the door, and per- 
haps run against it; but a blind person actu- 
ally feels objects before touching them, — a 
very strange but true thing. The smell, too, 
which is our dullest sense, and not much 
thought of unless it is offended, grows keen, 
and tells a blind girl almost as much about a 
rose as her eyes could. 

But — going back to our question — perhaps 
you would say, " I should miss more than any- 
thing else seeing the faces of my parents and 
brothers and sisters." Well, it would be a ter- 
rible thing never again to look into your moth- 
er's eyes and your father's kind face, for you 
will never in all your lives see any one half 
so beautiful as they seem* to you ; but tell me 
if you are not just as happy with your parents 
when you chance to sit with them in the 
evening, before the lamps are lighted, or when 
riding with them on a dark night ? You 
get a little closer to them, and are just as 



LIGHT AND EYES. 1 59 

happy as if you saw them. Here, too, feeling 
or touch almost takes the place of eyes. A 
blind person will pass his hand over the face 
of another, and tell almost as well as any if 
it is beautiful or not. It is separation from 
our friends, so that we neither see nor hear 
nor touch them, that is sad. But so long as 
we could hear and feel them, or know that 
they are near us, we might get on quite hap- 
pily even if we could not see them. 

Perhaps you would say, " I should most 
miss seeing the earth, — the hills, the fields, 
the woods, the flowers, the grass, the brooks, 
the clouds, and everything else." I think you 
have now come a little nearer the truth ; for 
you speak of things that the other senses 
cannot tell you about, or only in part. You 
cannot hear, nor smell, nor feel Greylock. 
Though blind, you might climb to the top, — 
for blind Mr. Fawcett, the English statesman, 
goes salmon-fishing, and does almost every- 
thing that other people do, — and when on 
the summit you might feel the pure, sweet air, 
and smell the pines and spruce, but you could 
not in any way know by yourself the wonderful 



l6o LIGHT AND EYES. 

beauty of the landscape as it stretches away to 
Monadnock on one side, and to the Catskills 
on the other. Some dear friend might try to 
describe it to you ; but I think it would make 
you feel as Burns did when he was very sad 
and heard the birds sing, — 

"Ye bonny birds, ye break my heart." 

For when a beautiful thing is near us and we 
cannot get at it nor in any way come into the 
spirit of it, it is sad business. Or you might 
go to the Cascade, and hear it dashing down 
the rocks, but you could not touch nor smell 
it. You can take one flower and almost see it 
as you touch and smell it, but you cannot get 
at a whole field of daisies, and the whole road- 
side of golden-rod, and the mountains as they 
glow in October, and the grass as it shines in 
June. And as our Festival comes round, you 
could hear the music and smell the perfume, 
but you would miss the great masses of flowers 
and greenery, all set in order and harmony for 
the eye. A sad day is our Festival of Flowers 
for the blind ! 

I think we are agreed that, if blind, we should 






LIGHT AND EYES. l6l 

most miss the things that are so great or dis- 
tant that the other senses cannot get hold of 
them tor us. Touch and taste and smell and 
hearing are near senses, — they tell us of what is 
close at hand, — but there is almost no limit to 
sight. You can hear some sounds, such as the 
firing of cannon, a few miles away ; and some- 
times a bell, on a still evening when the air is 
heavy with moisture, can be heard a long way 
off: but probably a sound was never made in 
Williamstown that was heard in North Adams, 
yet it is only five miles distant. All the senses 
except sight play about things near at hand, 
but sight is both a near and a far sense. You 
look down at a book or a flower in your hand, 
and by simply lifting your head you see the 
sun millions of miles away. 

This brings me to what I think I should miss, 
if I should become blind, more than anything 
else ; and that is, the light of the sun, or the 
light itself. You may say that there is no use 
in light except to see things with. I am not so 
sure of that. I think the light itself is pleasant 
to the eye, just as sugar is sw r eet to the taste 
and a pure tone is pleasant to the ear. Light 



1 62 LIGHT AND EYES. 

is made for the eye, and so it pleases it. Just 
try it ; close your eyes for ten minutes, — they 
will be the longest you ever knew, — then open 
them towards the sky, and let nothing come 
before them but the white light in heaven, and 
then tell me if it is not sweet to the eye. Have 
you ever gone into a mine or a cavern, or — 
what is more probable — been shut in a dark 
room ? If so, when you came out were you 
not glad just to get into the light? It was not 
because you wanted to see anything in particu- 
lar, but because your eyes wanted the light. 
One sometimes gets into a dimly lighted room, 
■ — the curtains all down, or, if it happens to be 
evening, there is one feeble lamp or low jet of 
gas ; how discontented and gloomy you feel ! 
But if the curtains are thrown back, or full jets 
of gas are turned on, you are happy in a mo- 
ment. Sometimes in autumn and spring we 
have, in these mountains, whole days and 
almost weeks of unbroken cloudy weather. 
We can see well enough to do all that we have 
to do, and we see everything about us ; Grey- 
lock and Hoosac and North Mountain are 
there, the same as ever, but black and gloomy. 



LIGHT AND EYES. 1 63 

You look down the valley and up the glens, but 
they are so dull and dark that you are de- 
pressed, and you say, " They are not beautiful 
to-day ; " but the lack of beauty is only the 
lack of light. At last the dull weather comes 
to an end, and — if you will but take notice of 
it — just as great a change takes place in the 
faces of the people. Their dull, black looks 
pass away, and their voices grow cheerful, and 
all because the sun gives them more and clearer 
light. Can you tell me why, on a summer 
morning just as the day begins to dawn, the 
birds burst into one universal song ? And can 
you tell me why the first thing a little babe 
takes notice of is a light, and why it looks at it 
so steadily? I think it is because birds and 
babes and everything else that has eyes, love the 
light. Yes, even bats and owls ; only they hap- 
pen to be able to see with very little, and are 
blinded by excess of it. Doubtless they think 
the day is doleful because they cannot see, and 
the night beautiful because then they can see. 

You know, or will come to know, something 
about Milton, who was blind in the last years 
of his life, when he composed his greatest 



164 LIGHT AND EYES. 

poems. In several of them he refers to his 
blindness in a very touching way; and it seems 
to be the loss of the light, rather than of the 
sight of things, that saddens him. In Book 
III. of ''Paradise Lost," he says, — 

" Hail, holy Light ! offspring of Heaven first-born : 
I feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn." 

In another poem on Samson, with whom 
Milton felt a deep sympathy on account of his 
blindness, he puts into Samson's mouth these 
sad words : — 

" Oh dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 
"Without all hope of day ! 
O first created beam, and thou great word, 
Let there be light and light was over all : 
Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree ? 
The sun to me is dark 
And silent as the moon, 
When she deserts the night 
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave." 

Gray, the author of the " Elegy," says in an- 
other poem, — 

" Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes." 



LIGHT AND EYES. 1 65 
» 

I think we shall agree with the poets that in 
case we were to become blind, we should miss 
more than anything else the simple white 
light that comes from the sun, and for the 
reason that it is made to be the food of the 
eye ; and if the eye cannot find it, it hungers 
for it. A blind eye is very like a starved 
stomach, and may be said to have an appetite 
for light. 

Perhaps you will ask why God made the eye 
in such a way that it cries out for light, and 
why, if blind, it misses the light more than 
anything else ? Why, you ask, do desire and 
satisfaction play about the light rather than 
about what the light reveals ? For the same 
reason, I think, that the appetite, or demand 
of the stomach, fixes on food instead of the 
strength that food yields. Still, the desire for 
food was given us in order that we may get 
strength ; and the love of light was planted in 
the eye because there is so immense use to be 
made of light. When God wants us to have 
something that is very valuable, He puts within 
us a strong desire, not so much for the thing 
itself as for the means of reaching it. This 



1 66 LIGHT AND EYES. 

may be rather deep for you, but think of it 
awhile and it will grow clear. 

Now there is nothing in this world that, upon 
the whole, we need so much as knowledge, or 
facts ; and the chief way of getting them is by 
using the eyes. The instrument with which 
the eyes work is the light, and so God put into 
them a love of it. 

I have been leading you, in rather a round- 
about way, to three things that I want you to 
remember. 

i. Be thankful for your eyes, and for the 
light that fills them. I have said these things 
to lead you to think, and then to feel, what a 
wonderful sense the sight is. While we ought 
to be thankful for our whole body and all its 
wonderful parts, there is special reason for grat- 
itude for sight, because it is so immense a 
faculty, and because it does so much more for 
us than any other sense. You can see a star 
billions of miles away, and a bright grain of 
sand at your feet. You look at some little letters 
printed on paper, and you learn what happened 
a thousand years ago. All day long you are 
seeing things that teach, or might teach, you 



LIGHT AND EYES. 1 67 

something, and so you get knowledge, — the 
thing that we all most need. I do not under- 
stand how any one can begin the day without 
thanking God for the new light, as the birds do. 
And the reason I want you to be grateful is 
that gratitude is both pleasing to God and good 
for you ; for gratitude makes you joyful, and 
grateful joy makes you strong, and so able to 
be good and to do good. 

2. Take good care of your eyes. 

I am sorry to learn that since books have 
become so common, and especially since fine 
type has come into use, and since children 
have been required to study so hard, and often 
in poorly lighted rooms, troubles of the eye 
have increased. Young people are growing 
near-sighted, or flat-eyed, or weak-eyed ; all 
of which means just so much less knowledge 
and happiness and even goodness, because a 
person who cannot see far and straight goes 
without a part of the facts that help the judg- 
ment. 

I wish you would all make it a strict rule 
never in any way to abuse your eyes. 

Never read between daylight and dark. 



LIGHT AND EYES. 



Never read while lying down. 

Never read books of very small type. 

Always stop reading when your eyes are 
tired, or when they ache. 

Hold your book squarely before you, and if 
possible let the light fall upon it over your 
shoulder. 

Guard carefully against all accidents that 
may injure the eyes. The sight is the most 
exposed and the most easily destroyed of all 
the senses. Hearing is within the head, touch 
is distributed all over the body, and taste and 
smell extend over inner linings ; but sight 
stands out at the front, exposed to everything 
that comes along, protected only by a thin lid. 
Milton, in his poem on Samson, wonders 

" Why was the sight 
To such a tender ball as the eye confined, 
So obvious and so easy to be quenched? 
And not as feeling, through all parts diffused 
That she might look at will through any pore ? " 

I think we might answer that as the eye gives 
us knowledge, we can use our knowledge to 
take care of the eye. God gives us two eyes, so 
that if one is destroyed we shall have another 



LIGHT AND EYES. 1 69 

still ; but if He had given us three or four, or a 
hundred, we might have become so careless 
that we should lose all sooner than two. God 
thus seems to say, " I give you an extra eye 
in case of accident to one, or heedlessness on 
your part, but you must take care of the other 
yourself." 

3. Use your eyes for what they were made ; 
that is, to get knowledge. 

The senses are our servants, and sight is the 
sense that chiefly waits on the mind and brings 
to it what it most wants. That is the reason 
why we can see so far and so much, great 
things and small. We first need to see things, 
then to think of them. In this way we find 
out what they mean, and this is knowledge. 
Now the more you see, provided you see thor- 
oughly and think carefully, the more you will 
know. I wish I could make you all feel how 
important it is that you should have the great- 
est possible amount of knowledge, especially of 
the things that lie before your eyes. I think a 
wise or an educated man might almost be de- 
scribed as one who keeps his eyes open. Many of 
you read quite enough ; I want you to learn to 



170 LIGHT AND EYES. 

read the great book that is not printed, — the 
book of Nature ; for God made this book, and 
there are no mistakes in it, and there is no end to 
it. Learn to look closely and steadily, and, as it 
were, into things. Take a cobweb, some dewy 
morning, stretched on a bush, or an ant-hill, or 
a chestnut in its burr, or a lobster, or a bat, or 
a climbing vine, and use your eyes upon it, — 
always with the question Why ? in your mind, 
— till you have found out the reason and use 
of every part. Mr. Darwin wrote a whole book 
on angle-worms. Professor Agassiz once gave 
to a student, for his first lesson, a fish, and told 
him to use his eyes upon it, and kept him at it 
a whole week without any help. 

God has put us in a beautiful and wonderful 
world, and filled it full of thoughts and truths 
about Himself. The world will not last always, 
and we shall not stay very long in it; but it 
would be a pity if we should go out of it and 
back to God without knowing all we can of it, 
and of Him who made it. 

That is what Light and Eyes are for. 



A LITTLE MAID. 



In old days we read of angels who came and took men 
by the hand, and led them away from the city of Destruction. 
We see no white-robed angels now ; yet men are led away 
from threatening destruction : a hand is put into theirs, and 
they are gently guided toward a bright and calm land, so 
that they look no more backward ; and the hand may be that 
of a little child 

George Eliot. 

As aromatic plants bestow 
No spicy fragrance while they grow, 
But crushed, or trodden to the ground, 
Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 

Goldsmith : The Captivity, 



X. 



A LITTLE MAID. 

" Now Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria, was 
a great man with his master, and honorable, because by him the 
Lord had given deliverance unto Syria : he was also a niighty 
man in valor, but he was a leper. And the Syrians had gone 
out by companies, and had brought away captive out of the 
la7id of Israel a little maid j and she waited on Naamarts wife. 
And she said unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with 
the prophet that is in Samaria ! for he would recover him of 
his leprosy." 

2 Kings v. 1-3. 




THINK upon the whole that old 
stories are better than new ones ; 
I mean, stories of old times. It 
is perhaps because only the very 
best are remembered while the 
poorer ones are forgotten, so that those which 
have come down to us from past ages are the 
choice ones selected from a great number that 
pleased people for a while, but not well nor 
long enough to get fixed in their minds. 



174 A LITTLE MAID. 



Of all old stories, I hardly know a better one 
than this of Naaman and the little maid from 
Samaria. It is full of human nature ; that is, 
it shows that people acted and felt three thou- 
sand years ago just as they do now : they were 
kind and sympathetic, and proud and grateful 
and covetous and deceitful, just as people are 
nowadays. And the story has a fine romantic 
setting ; that is, its incidents take hold of our 
fancy and charm us; — a little girl stolen in war 
and carried to a foreign country and put into 
the house of a great general, who falls very ill 
and is cured in a wonderful way, and so on. 
I think it will please us all to hear it over 
again. 

Syria and Israel stood to each other very 
much like Germany and Switzerland. One 
was a great, rich country, with fine rivers like 
the Rhine and Danube, and a capital city so 
beautiful that it was called "the eye of the 
East;" while Israel was a small country, full 
of mountains, and with only one small river 
that ran nearly dry in summer. To tell the 
truth, Syria looked down on Israel, and — what 
is worse — often made war on it. In those 



A LITTLE MAID. 1 75 

days war was even more cruel and senseless 
than it is now ; for it was not confined to the 
armies that fought and captured one another, 
but extended to women and children, who 
were often seized, carried away from their 
homes into the country of the enemy, and 
made slaves. It is bad and senseless enough 
for men to stand up and stab one another as 
they used to in old times, or shoot one another 
as they do now ; but to carry a mother away 
from her children, or take a little girl away 
from her home and playmates and make a 
slave of her, is something worse. But it was 
often done in those ancient days, as you will 
learn when you read history, and the story of 
the siege of Troy, which sprang out of stealing 
a beautiful woman. 

There were frequent wars between Syria and 
Israel. Israel had once conquered Syria, and 
Syria had broken away, and so it went on back 
and forth, year after year. When our story 
begins, Naaman, a great general, had delivered 
his country from Israel, and brought home with 
him a little Hebrew girl, who was so beautiful 
and sweet in her ways that he gave her to his 



176 A LITTLE MAID. 



wife on his return from the war. A strange 
present, you say, but it proved a very valuable 
one. It seems to us very cruel. One would 
think that if Naaman and his wife loved this 
little girl — and I am sure they did — they 
would have sent her back to her home, for she 
must have had a heart-breaking time of it at 
first; but people were not kind in that way 
in those days. Yes, I am sure they loved 
her and were kind to her, for the simple rea- 
son that she evidently loved them ; and I am 
also sure that the reason they loved her was 
that they could not help it, as w r e shall see 
farther on. 

Not long after the war, Naaman was at- 
tacked with a disease so dreadful and repulsive 
that I cannot describe it to you. Let us be 
thankful that leprosy is unknown here. It is 
not only incurable, but as it goes on it becomes 
so terrible that one cannot stay at home with 
his family, but must go out and live alone, or 
with other lepers, and wait for death, which 
often does not happen for years. It was a sad 
time for the great Naaman when he discovered 
that it had seized him. He felt well and strong, 



A LITTLE MAID. 



l 77 



but the fearful signs made it sure. It was a 
sadder time when he told his wife ; for both 
knew that the day would soon come w r hen they 
could no longer stay together at home, and 
that he must leave beautiful Damascus, and 
give up his place in the army, and go off into 
the mountains and live alone, or with others 
like himself. The saddest feature of all was 
that there was no hope : all this was sure 
to take place. If you have ever been in a 
house where some one is very ill and likely 
to die, or some terrible accident has occurred, 
you have felt what a gloom overhangs it, and 
have been glad to escape from it and get out 
under the open sky. But our little Hebrew 
girl could not escape. She must stay through 
it all, and wait on Naaman's wife, and see her 
weep and Naaman's strong face grow sadder 
every day. Now I think we shall begin to see 
what a rare, noble, sweet child this was that 
we are talking about. What a pity that we 
do not know her name, — for she is a nameless 
child ! I would like to call her Anna if I had 
any right to leave off the H that the Hebrews 
put before and after this beautiful name. And 

12 



I78 A LITTLE MAID. 

I should not change it by turning the a at the 
close into ie, as so many young people — and 
older ones, too, who ought to know better — are 
in the habit of doing; for I never could un- 
derstand why girls with so noble names as 
Anna and Mary and Helen and Margaret and 
Caroline should change them into the weak 
and silly forms that we hear every day. This 
change, which usually shortens the name and 
ends it with an ie, is called a diminutive, which, 
according to Worcester, means "a thing little 
of its kind," and so may well enough be used 
in the nursery ; but that grown women should 
use it seems to me foolish and even ignoble, 
and I often fear it may indicate a lack of fine 
sentiment. We do not know the name of our 
little maiden, but we can safely imagine her 
appearance for two reasons : we know her cir- 
cumstances and her character. Is it not quite 
sure that when Naaman selected from his cap- 
tives a little girl to wait on his wife, he would 
take the most beautiful one ? When we make 
presents to those we love, we always get the 
best we can. Now we can go a step farther, 
and ask what made her beautiful in such a 



A LITTLE MAID. 1 79 



way that Naaman thought she would please 
his wife. It must have been her sweet and 
amiable expression ; and that came from her 
character, for nothing else can make beauty 
of this sort. And so we picture her with 
black, wavy hair and soft, dark eyes, with red 
cheeks glowing through an olive-colored skin, 
lips like a pomegranate, a sweet, patient, loving 
expression, and a voice " gentle and low " and 
full of sympathy and readiness. I am very 
sure about her voice and expression, because 
I know her character. I never have seen any 
one with a loving and helpful spirit who had 
not a gentle voice and a sweet expression. I 
think she must have been about twelve years 
old ; for if she had been younger she would not 
have known all about Elisha, and if older she 
would not have been called " a little maid." 

When the trouble came upon Naaman's 
family, she felt it grievously, and was more 
attentive and gentle in her services than ever. 
Just here she showed the beauty of her 
character. She had been cruelly wronged, — 
stolen away from her country and home, and 
made a slave without hope of ever seeing them 



l8o A LITTLE MAID. 



again, — and so might naturally feel revengeful, 
and say that Naaman's leprosy was a punish- 
ment for the wrong he had done her. But 
instead she pitied him, and in her sympathy 
with his sufferings forgot her own. So, as she 
brooded on the trouble, she happened to re- 
member one day that Elisha had cured people 
who were very ill, and done many wonderful 
things, and she said to her mistress, Would 
God my lord were with the prophet that is in 
Samaria ! for he would recover him of his 
leprosy." Probably Naaman's wife questioned 
her closely about Elisha, and got at all she 
knew about him, and so heard about the child 
that fell sick amongst the reapers, and the 
poor widow whose two sons were to be sold 
as slaves, and the mantle of Elijah that Elisha 
had caught upon the banks of the Jordan, with 
which he smote the waters. At any rate, she 
heard enough to awaken some hope, and so 
told her husband what our little maid had said. 
When people are hopelessly ill, they are will- 
ing to try anything ; a drowning man will 
catch at a straw, and Naaman caught at this 
little straw of hope that the wind of war had 



A LITTLE MAID. l8l 

blown across his path. He thought it over, 
and said to himself, " It is my only chance ; 
no one here can do anything for me. I will 
go down to Samaria and find Elisha. I have 
often heard that the prophets there did won- 
derful things ; if what the little maid says of 
the boy amongst the reapers is true, perhaps 
Elisha can cure me." And so he went ; but 
it was very humiliating. He thought of Israel 
and the little city of Samaria and the Jordan 
in a scornful way, comparing them with his 
splendid Damascus, and its green, beautiful 
plain, thirty miles wide, and the great river 
Abana, that gushed from the side of the moun- 
tain, and flowed through and all about the 
city, making the whole country one vast gar- 
den. He despised, too, the people of Israel. 
They were rude and poor and ignorant, while 
his own people were rich and cultivated. Per- 
haps he had borne himself proudly when he 
was at war there ; and now to go back and ask 
favors — to ask for himself what he could not 
get at home — was humiliating indeed. But he 
made the best of it ; and to cover his pride and 
make it seem as though he were not asking 



152 A LITTLE MAID. 

favors, he took with him an immense amount 
of silver and gold, and ten suits of raiment, — 
perhaps of linen damask, that was first made 
in Damascus. 

I shall not follow the story farther, except 
to say that because Naaman went in such a 
proud spirit, Elisha used every means to make 
him humble. He seemed to be anxious to 
send Naaman home, not only a well, but a 
better man, and to teach him that there were 
other things to be thought of than great rivers, 
and fine cities, and temples of Rimmon. Espe- 
cially he wanted to teach him that the one, 
true God could make a small, rough nation 
greater and stronger than one that worshipped 
idols. Naaman went home cured of his leprosy, 
with some earth to make an altar of, and all his 
gold and silver and fine garments, except what 
the foolish Gehazi got from him by lying. 
How Naaman proposed to act when he should 
get home and be forced to go with the king 
into the temple of Rimmon, you will find dis- 
cussed in the second chapter of the second 
part of " School Days at Rugby." My opin- 
ion is that Elisha told him he must settle that 



A LITTLE MAID. 1 83 



matter with his own conscience; but I can 
imagine that when he had worshipped God be- 
fore the altar built of the earth brought from 
the Jordan, and then went into the temple of 
Rimmon and did what the king did, his con- 
science must have troubled him. 

But I care a great deal more for our little 
maid than for Naaman. I wonder what be- 
came of her. If Naaman did what he ought, 
he sent her back to her home, and gave her all 
the gold and silver he had offered to Elisha. 
I am quite inclined to believe this for several 
reasons. Naaman was a reasonable man. When 
he was told to " go and wash himself seven times 
in Jordan," he was surprised and angry, because 
it was so different from what he had expected, 
and because he thought it was an insult to his 
own great rivers, But when his servants re- 
minded him that it was just as easy to do a little 
thing as a great thing, he saw the wisdom of 
it, and let good sense triumph over pride. He 
was also a generous man, as the gifts he offered 
to Elisha show. And he was conscientious, or 
he would not have asked Elisha about bowing 
down in the temple of Rimmon as a part of 



184 A LITTLE MAID. 

his duty to the king. All through he showed 
himself grateful. Yes ; I think he went back 
to Syria not only with " the flesh of a little 
child," but with a child's heart. And because 
he was reasonable and generous and conscien- 
tious and grateful, he did not forget the lit- 
tle maid who was at the bottom of the whole 
affair. He owed quite as much to her as to 
Elisha; for people who start good enterprises 
deserve more praise and reward than those 
who carry them out. So, when he reached 
home and met his wife and children, — why, it 
was almost like coming back from the dead ! — 
his first thought must have been of the little 
maid. We can imagine the great Naaman 
taking her in his arms with tears, and saying, 
" What can I do for you, my little maid ? Tell 
me what you most want, and I will give it to 
you, even if it is the half of my possessions." 
We know that Eastern princes often said such 
things when their fancy or their gratitude was 
deeply stirred : they gave full course to all 
their feelings, good and bad. Perhaps she 
had become fond of Naaman's wife, and would 
like to stay with her. Perhaps they told her 



A LITTLE MAID. 1 85 



they would adopt her, and clothe her with rich 
damask and jewels of gold and silver. But I 
doubt if she was a child who cared more for 
such things than for her parents and her home. 
And as she heard the story of Naaman's cure, 
and of Elisha and the Jordan, her mind went 
back to her native land and to her home, and 
a great longing filled her heart to see it again, 
and to live the old life with her parents and 
brothers and sisters. The Jews do not easily 
forget their country nor their families; and this 
little maid was a true Jewess. It might be a 
fine thing to live in a palace and wear jewels, 
but she would rather go home, and tend the 
sheep and goats, and pick the grapes, and go 
to the fountain for water. Perhaps she had lived 
on the slope of Hermon, where the dew fell 
heavily every night, and the brooks ran full 
all summer; for Naaman's march home led 
near it. 

We found her in Damascus a slave ; but we 
will leave her at home amongst the vines and 
flowers and kids, with father and mother and 
mates, for she was a child who lived in her 
affections rather than in her ambitions. 



1 86 A LITTLE MAID. 



The chief thing she teaches us is the beauty 
and blessedness of returning good for evil. 
Long before Christ's day she was Christ's own 
child; for she loved her enemies, and prayed 
for those who had persecuted her. 



VOWS ASSUMED. 



Draw, Holy Ghost, thy sevenfold veil 

Between us and the fires of youth ; 
Breathe, Holy Ghost, thy freshening gale, 

Our fevered brow in age to soothe. 

And oft as sin and sorrow tire, 

The hallowed hour do Thou renew, 
When beckoned up the awful choir 

By pastoral hands, toward Thee we drew ; 

When trembling at the sacred rail 

We hid our eyes and held our breath, 

Felt Thee how strong, our hearts how frail, 
And longed to own Thee to the death. 

Forever on our souls be traced 

That blessing dear, that dovelike hand, 

A sheltering rock in Memory's waste, 
O'ershadowing all the weary land. 

Christian Year: "Confirmation." 



XL 

VOWS ASSUMED. 1 

" The grace of the Lord Jesus Christy and the love of God, 
and the cotmnunion of the Holy Ghost, be with you all. 
Amen" 

2 Corinthians xiii. 14. 

|HE day on which one publicly con- 
fesses Christ and enters his Church 
is a day equalled by only a few in 
the whole life. The day of birth, 
the day when home is left and the 
world entered alone, the day of marriage, the 
day of death, — it is with such days that this 
is to be reckoned. And yet, what you do to- 
day is very simple. You have come to this 
Church, where you have come for years, some 
of you since your earliest remembrance ; you 
sit in the presence of this table of our Lord ; 

1 This discourse is a Pastoral Address made to a large num- 
ber of young persons who entered into the Church in March, 
1883. 




I9O VOWS ASSUMED. 



you rise to confess your faith in Christ, and to 
pledge yourselves to His service forever ; you 
enter into a covenant with this church to wor- 
ship with it, to unite your life with the lives 
of its members for common ends of Christian 
service and fellowship. You openly consecrate 
yourselves to the service of God ; you take 
Him, by your own act, as your God and Father, 
and put your life in accord with this relation ; 
you accept Christ as your Saviour and Guide 
and Friend, — as the Way you are to live, the 
Truth you are to know, the Life you are to 
become one with. This is all that you do 
to-day, — a very simple thing, and yet a very 
great thing. It is a simple thing for the sun 
to rise, — it is merely the earth turning on its 
axis a little farther, — but how great the change ! 
Darkness gone and day come, the blindness of 
night past and the clearness of light about us. 
So this brief hour brings to you a change 
almost as great ; and yet, in another sense, 
this act is no change. It does not change the 
nature of duty. You are under no obligation 
to do anything that you were not under before. 
If there was anything that was right and proper 



VOWS ASSUMED. IQI 

for you to do in the past, it is right and proper 
still. You are under no stricter rule now, than 
you have been. What would be sin now, was 
sin in the past ; what was right then, is right 
now. What it is right to do, what places it is 
right to visit, what companions it is right to 
have, what habits to foster, what language 
to use, what pleasures to indulge in, what 
books to read, what manner of life to live at 
home, what spirit to possess and to show, 
how to employ your time, how to spend your 
Sundays, what feeling you should cherish 
towards God, what service render to Christ, — 
all these have undergone no change. Duty 
never changes ; right is always right, and wrong 
is always wrong. 

And yet, in another sense, your relation to 
your duties — to right and wrong in conduct 
and feeling — is changed. You confess that 
duty is duty ; you take sides with duty ; you 
choose duty ; you pledge yourselves to it ; you 
declare that you love it and will forever seek to 
do it. 

There is another change. When we thus 
enter the Church, we define our duties ; the 



192 VOWS ASSUMED. 



act itself defines them. There is a wide dif- 
ference between a general sense of duty such 
as we are trained up in, and a sharp, personal 
acceptance of duty in our own minds and wills 
and hearts. You who are now taking these 
vows of Christian living upon you, have all 
been trained in Christian ways. Unless I am 
mistaken, there is not one of you who has trod- 
den duty under foot, and deliberately followed 
evil ways. It is the main source of our hope 
and confidence in you that it is so, — that you 
have been reared in Christian homes and by 
Christian teachers, and have come into the 
Church from these homes and the Sunday- 
school, already impregnated with its spirit and 
accustomed to its methods. Still, it is neces- 
sary that our general sense of duty should be- 
come a definite and personal sense of it. Just 
as in the other departments of life, there is 
a time when we must take the teachings of 
the home and of the school and adopt them 
for our own by an act of the will, so is it 
here. You, to-day, put the seal of your ap- 
proval on your Christian education; you say, 
" I take upon myself and for myself all these 



VOWS ASSUMED. 1 93 



duties in which I have been trained ; " you 
declare that in your deepest heart you embrace 
God's service as your highest joy and most 
abiding duty. You draw afresh, to-day, the line 
between right and wrong, — you draw it for 
yourselves, no longer taking it from your par- 
ents and teachers. And so you are to expect 
henceforth that right-doing will be a very clear 
and definite thing, and wrong-doing a very 
clear and definite thing. You have, in a sense, 
taken your character and destiny into your own 
hands. 

In another respect, also, is your position al- 
tered by what you do to-day. You come face to 
face with all that the Gospel means. I do not 
believe that one often realizes what the Gospel 
is, what Christ is, what humanity is, what duty 
is, what love and sympathy are, except through 
the Church ; it is a natural and a necessary re- 
lation for understanding Christian truth and 
facts. Just as one cannot fully understand the 
home except by living in it, by being a child 
and a brother or sister, so here, we must be 
in the Church to understand Christian truths 

and share in Christian joys and hopes. It is 

13 



194 VOWS ASSUMED. 



through the Church that these truths and facts 
are brought out and made real ; when we are in 
the Church, we are near them, we feel them, we 
discover their reality ; or, in ordinary phrase, 
the Church is a means of grace. I wish to im- 
press this upon your minds and to make it very 
clear and real to you. You enter the Church, 
not simply because it is your duty to do so, nor 
yet merely as a means of doing good, for the 
Church is something more than a society for 
doing good, but because the Church is your 
true and natural place. God made us to be in 
the Church, and provided the Church because 
we need it. Hence, in ancient days, endearing 
names were given to it. It was called the 
" Lamb's Wife" and the " Mother of us all," its 
members are brethren, and thus the tenderness 
of these natural relations is thrown about our re- 
lation to the Church ; it is a mother to us, we are 
under her fostering care, we repose in her love, 
we are within the enclosure of her tender influ- 
ence. You, to-day, come fully into this relation. 
You will not at once feel all its power, nor 
reap all its benefits. You will awake to-morrow 
and see no great change ; you may be inclined 



VOWS ASSUMED. 1 95 



to say 5 as days go on, that it has done you no 
good. But this is not the way to test the value 
of any natural relation. You are rather to as- 
sume that, being in the Church, you are where 
God would have you, — in your right place, just 
as you are in this world, — and so the good will 
be wrought out in you. It is by living on, year 
after year, in this relation, doing your duty, 
yielding yourself up to all the good influences 
and teachings of the Church, sharing its life, 
striving towards its high standards, dwelling 
steadily under the full light of what the Church 
means, — it is thus that you will reap the bene- 
fit of what you to-day do. You may not per- 
ceive, next month or next year, any great 
advantage ; but trust me when I assure you that 
after five or ten or twenty years you will be im- 
mensely better in every way for being in the 
Church. It will be an intellectual benefit to 
you. There is no educator like the pulpit and 
the study of themes suggested by the Church. 
It will steady you morally; the relation itself 
will keep you from many temptations and will 
foster good habits. But more than this, it 
keeps you in close contact with the great 



I96 VOWS ASSUMED. 

spiritual and moral facts of the Faith, — God, 
Christ, prayer, faith, love, patience, humility, 
service, truth, fidelity. You cannot live in con- 
tact with these facts and truths without being 
shaped by them. The power of eternity thus 
comes to invest you ; you learn what spiritual 
and eternal things are ; you come, at last, to 
have a faith that supports you ; you know God, 
you trust Him, you feel His presence, you lean 
on Him ; and when the great trials of life over- 
take you, you have a refuge and a hope. 

This is the advantage of being in a church. 
It is not gained at once ; it is not gained at 
all without due effort and co-operation ; but 
it is the end designed, and it is fitted to se- 
cure it. 

As I look into your faces, all turned to- 
wards the morning sun of life, all just come 
to a full sense of your personality and of your 
work in life, your future to be created, of noth- 
ing am I so sure as that you are, to-day, doing 
that which will tend more to make that future 
safe and happy and in every way successful, 
than any other possible thing you could do. 
I look forward into that future; and while I 



VOWS ASSUMED. 197 



cannot see it as exempt from fault and mistake 
and sin and trouble and calamity, I can see you 
contending with evil and calamity, and victo- 
rious over them ; I can see you virtuous, true, 
self-governed, strong for the right, useful, ten- 
der, humane, helpful, reverent, spiritual, Christ- 
like, — growing in these directions, always away 
from the evil and towards the good, and so 
passing on into your years, — evidently God's 
children, and with the marks of your Master 
imprinted on you. May this be true of you 
all! 

Let me now add one or two words of more 
specific advice. 

1. Never doubt the wisdom of what you 
now do, if you are consciously honest in it. 
No matter what you do, where you drift, what 
becomes of your faith, what evil you may fall 
into, do not allow yourself to turn on the act 
of to-day with self-reproach. What you are 
doing is right and wise. It is a step taken 
towards God ; it is putting your hand in the 
hand of your Eternal Friend. There can be 
no mistake in such an act. If there shall be 



I98 VOWS ASSUMED. 



mistake, it will be in the undoing and denial 
of this present act. Whatever else you may 
be tempted to think and feel, think of to-day's 
work as unalterably and eternally right. 

2. Let me urge you to surround your lives 
with a good set of habits. The gross sins, the 
evil speech, the impure word, the low thought 
and act, the bad temper, the spirit of revenge, 
the isolating pride, — all these you will avoid 
of course. But beyond these negative virtues, 
have positive Christian habits. Speak chari- 
tably of, and kindly to, all. Cultivate a helpful 
spirit. Strive to be always and everywhere 
useful. Crush out, if you happen to have it, 
any ingrained selfishness. Strive with daily 
effort and prayer and untiring energy after the 
Christ-like spirit of love and heavenly obe- 
dience. To help you in this, read and study 
the Bible constantly ; for thus only do we keep 
ourselves mindful of these things. Study spe- 
cially the Sermon on the Mount, the Gospel of 
St. John in its last chapters, — from the tenth 
onward, — the twelfth chapter of the Epistle to 
the Romans, the thirteenth of First Corinthians, 



VOWS ASSUMED. 1 99 



the Epistles of St. James and St. John. And to 
such a habit of Bible-reading join the habit of 
prayer. The devout spirit will always be look- 
ing up to heaven; the true child of God is 
never unmindful of the Father ; still, we need 
for our best good the habit and form of prayer, 
— the bended knee, the spoken word, the closed 
door. 

3. Be scrupulous in your observance of 
what are called religious duties. Observe the 
Sabbath as God's day, with spiritual calm and 
reverence, with a gladness that is more than 
earthly, with worship and fresh entrance into 
the realities of eternity. Have for yourselves 
stringent rules for attending Church ; guide 
yourselves by a law in this matter. You can 
make no greater mistake than to let the habit 
of Church-going become a matter of mere in- 
clination, — a fitful, uncertain thing determined 
by weather and caprice. Let nothing but duty 
keep you away from Church ; let duty take you 
there. 

It is also well to guide yourselves by some 
such rule as this : live close to the Church ; 



200 VOWS ASSUMED. 



attend its services, the weekly one for prayer 
and the Sunday-school ; take full part in all 
the work of the Church, — its charitable labors 
and contributions, its regular work and its 
special undertakings. I urge this for two rea- 
sons, — it helps the Church to do its work in 
the community and world, and it helps you in 
your own inner life. The work and influence 
of the Church is of unspeakable value, and, I 
believe, is increasingly so, standing as it does 
for whatever is pure and high and generous 
and true and good. I want you young people 
who are coming into it, to fall in with and lay 
hold of this work, and make its influence yet 
stronger and deeper ; for there is nothing that 
will so enlarge and strengthen and sweeten 
and ennoble your own life as to work in 
these ways. 

4. Finally, let me urge you to live near to 
God in Christ. This is beyond everything 
else, beyond external duty, or any coming and 
going, any doing or not doing. Live a spirit- 
ual life, — you know little as yet what these 
words mean, but you will come to know them. 



VOWS ASSUMED. 201 

Strive to know God, to feel Him ; endure as 
seeing Him ; aspire to Him ; do not rest nor be 
content except as you have a sense of God. 
If you sin, return to Him with repentance. If 
you become engrossed in this world's work or 
pleasure, recall yourself to the thought of God. 
Pray to Him, commune with Him, love Him, 
serve Him. You came from Him, you will 
go to Him ; live mindful of your source and 
destiny. This, surely, is wisdom. 

And then, make it an abiding purpose to 
come into oneness with Christ; this is to be the 
glad struggle of your whole life. Take Him 
for your guide; do as He says; live with Him; 
die to sin with Him ; obey with Him ; go up 
to God with Him ; get into oneness with Him, 
and so know His peace and joy. You cannot 
realize this to-day, nor to-morrow; but after 
months and years you may realize it. You 
may not, to-day, feel that Christ is all, that 
God is the only reality ; but if you fill out the 
plan you here adopt, you will come at last, and 
perhaps soon, to know that Christ is indeed all, 
— all of duty and hope, — and to say of God, 
" Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? and 



202 VOWS ASSUMED. 



there is none upon earth that I desire besides 
Thee." 

PRAYER. 

" O Lord God of infinite mercy, who hast sent Thy 
Holy Son into the world to redeem us from all evil, 
let my faith, I beseech Thee, be the parent of a good 
life, a strong shield to repel the fiery darts of the 
devil ; and grant that I may be supported by its 
strength in all temptations, and refreshed by its com- 
forts in all my sorrows, till from the imperfections of 
this life it may arrive at the consummation of an 
eternal and never-ceasing love ; through Jesus Christ 
Amen." 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 



" If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, 
will he give him a stone ? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish 
give him a serpent ? or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer 
him a scorpion ? " 

" And He took them up in His arms, put His hands upon 
them, and blessed them." 

" Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they 
be discouraged." 

" No power is to be weakened, but only its opposite power 
strengthened." — Jean Paul. 

" Come, let us for our children live." 

Froebel. 



g 



XII. 

HOME AND CHARACTER. 

" As a bird that wander eth from her nest, so is a man that 
wandereth fro7n his place." 

Proverbs xxvii. 8. 

HIS comparison reminds us of 
Wordsworth's lines " To the Sky- 
lark," — a bird that the Duke of 
Argyll thinks we ought to have 
introduced here instead of the 
English sparrow : — 

" Type of the wise, who soar but never roam, 
True to the kindred points of heaven and home." 

This couplet seems to me not only the most 
beautiful in our language, but to be as true as 
it is apt and beautiful. The wise soar, but do 
not roam, — that is, they are definite and orderly 
in their lives and purposes ; heaven and home 
are kindred points, — they fill the same place 
in the heart of man ; the wise are true to each. 



206 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

Wordsworth touches a very deep truth when 
he says that they are kindred. We use one to 
intensify our representation of the other. We 
say that a home is heavenly, but we do not say 
so much as when we say that heaven is a home. 
The home is the starting-point in our illustra- 
tion ; we cannot describe heaven until we know 
what home is. 

We have hardly need to experience it, to 
know it. The instinct is so deep and assertive 
that we know it intuitively. It is wrought into 
the nature of almost every living thing. There 
is scarcely an animal or insect that has not its 
place where it returns at night or for rest. 
Certain birds and animals migrate, and some 
are so gregarious that they must constantly 
move in search of food ; but the vast majority 
have a lair, or nest, or covert, to which they 
come back for safety and sleep, and to meet their 
young or their mates. This great dominating 
instinct must yield a vast happiness. Abroad, 
there is fear and danger; but at home, only 
repose, and the brooding of young, and con- 
sciousness of safety. It is probably true that 
by far the greater part of the happiness of 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 20J 

the animal creation is found in their homes. 
We thus see what a powerful instinct underlies 
this fact, or relation, that we call home. 

See, also, how the imagination has dealt with 
it. Whenever we would picture the highest 
felicity, either earthly or heavenly, we call 
it a home. Heaven is nothing else ; when 
named as an " eternal home," every heart re- 
sponds, and at its fullest. The home involves 
incomparably the strongest and most lasting 
elements of our nature. It lies alongside of, 
or rather is the environment and atmosphere 
of, our physical instincts, our human love, our 
moral character, our religion ; all have their 
field and their ground of existence in the home. 
Any conscious weakening of its sense marks a 
step in degradation. Its obliteration, if it ever 
occurs, indicates an utter collapse and extinction 
of character. Any drifting away from it in 
fact or feeling is significant of danger. Its 
indestructibility as an instinct — and it seems 
to be indestructible — is the main ground of 
hope yielded by nature. There is a story told 
of an old Norse viking, who, w r hen a boy, had 
tended his father's goats upon the hills of 



208 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

Norway. He became strong, sailed the seas, and 
robbed, and got great wealth, and finally built 
a palace on the Bosphorus, amidst flowers and 
soft scenes, where he lived till old age came 
on, when all about him faded out of sight and 
recollection, and the only sound he could hear 
was the kids bleating for him on the rocky hill- 
sides of Norway. It is related of the great 
President Nott, who died nearly a century old, 
that he sank into a literal second childhood, 
and was hushed to sleep by the same cradle- 
hymn his mother sang to him when an infant, 
and that visions of his early home and of his 
mother, who died when he was fifteen, floated 
constantly before him, and that he commended 
his soul for the last time to his Creator in 
the child's prayer, " Now I lay me down to 
sleep." Life circles round to the beginning. 
When the merchant has made a fortune and 
would rest, he goes back to his early home, 
buys the ancestral acres, listens to the brook 
that sang to him when a boy and to the patter 
of rain upon the self-same roof, talks of early 
days, of old companions, of parents whose love 
and toil he now fully measures, and plans to 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 209 

mingle his dust with theirs. I am not sure 
what this revival of early memories signifies. 
The physiologists would say it shows merely that 
the earliest impressions are deepest — made 
when the mind is most plastic — and therefore 
last longest. But I do not think a physical ex- 
planation is the reason of a moral process or fact. 
The question remains, Why are we made in such 
a way that the earliest impressions are deepest 
and come out at the close of life, so that it is 
not uncommon for an old man to go out of 
existence full of the thoughts and feelings that 
played within him when a child, and with no 
other memories ? It seems to indicate a domi- 
nance of the earliest impressions and principles, 
and that when life begins again in other w T orlds, 
it is under the lead of these first influences, — 
that thus life forever keeps the keynote first 
struck. If so, it is but adding the emphasis of 
eternity to that of time, as to the importance 
of early impressions. They dominate a man 
through life ; perhaps they govern him through 
eternity. If they rise into the consciousness 
after years of subsidence, why should they not 

live on, surviving because they are the strongest? 

14 



2IO HOME AND CHARACTER. 

And so, to-day, I bring before you the famil- 
iar but never outworn theme of home influence. 
I begin with this proposition, — assuming its 
truth, — that the home commonly determines the 
character of the children. Blood, unaccounta- 
ble eccentricity, and external temptation mod- 
ify this influence, so that sometimes characters 
issue from homes at variance with its spirit, 
alien to it in temper and trait; but for the 
most part children wear and continue to carry 
the impress of the home. If you will watch 
and examine any young person carefully and 
thoroughly, you will find not only clear traces 
of lineage, but also of the spirit of the house- 
hold. It is hard to decide which is strongest. 
" Blood tells ; " but it hardly tells more than 
does the moral atmosphere of the home. Of 
course, blood and spirit usually agree, and make 
a common impression. If household influence 
is feeble, lineage makes its full natural impres- 
sion ; if it is strong, it is more apparent than 
that of lineage, and outmasters it; otherwise 
humanity could make no gain. 

But we cannot go back of ancestral influ- 
ences. If " the tiger lives on " in us, if we 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 211 

have inherited cruel or deceitful or weak quali- 
ties, we cannot help it, though we can bruise 
the heads of such serpents. Humanity has a 
progress upward ; it grows continually finer, — 
less of animal and more of man. Each genera- 
tion may pass on its life to the next, finer- 
grained, more spiritual and harmonious, than 
it received it. We have all of us seen a hard 
parentage coming under refined and Christian 
influences, and rearing a family gentle and fine. 
Nature is kindly to such a process, working 
with the eternal plan that evolves good out of 
ill, and leads on creation from the lower to the 
higher. Lineage we cannot alter ; and so our 
main field of effort is the home as it already 
exists. How shall we order it so that it shall 
be best for those who are in it? 

i. We should remember that the family is 
not only a divinely constituted institution, but 
should be also humanly constituted ; that is, it 
should be organized with distinct rules for a 
clear purpose, and imbued so far as may be 
with a well-defined spirit. 

The home is often left to shape itself ; it has 



212 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

no law, no purpose, no spirit, but such as the 
hour dictates. The home comes about; it 
happens ; it is not built and framed and made 
an orderly thing, having an order because it 
exists for an end. The most imperative thing 
a family has to do is to organize itself into a 
home. If a set of men were thrown together 
for the first time upon an island, or in some 
remote ungoverned region, the first thing they 
would do would be to organize themselves un- 
der laws. They would hardly sleep before they 
would determine what they might and might 
not do, and what penalty would follow disobe- 
dience. A family requires organization quite as 
much, and for the same reason, namely, because 
it is a society existing for the common good. 
It must have its methods of securing this com- 
mon good of all its members, and these meth- 
ods are the laws of the household. They need 
not be made prominent, for in divine things 
laws are inwrought and hidden ; but they must 
exist. You can no more have a true family 
without them than you can have a body with- 
out a skeleton. The bony framework does not 
show in a fair, well-nourished body ; but it is 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 213 

under it, and makes it. The lives of children 
should be regulated by these requirements, and 
any infraction of them should be regarded seri- 
ously. There ought to be no peace nor rest in 
the household so long as a child is habitually 
disobedient. The first, last, and uppermost 
purpose of the family should be to see that its 
laws are obeyed by its members. There is no 
diviner thing in the universe than obedience, 
for that is righteousness. 

Herbert Spencer says that " the most impor- 
tant attribute of man as a moral being is the 
faculty of self-control." It may not be quite 
correct to call that an attribute which is an 
achievement; but what he means is true, for 
self-control is the main factor of character. 
" Not to be impulsive, not to be spurred 
hither and thither by each desire that in turn 
comes uppermost, but to be self-restrained, 
self-balanced, governed by the joint decision of 
the feelings in council assembled, before whom 
every action shall have been debated and calmly 
determined," — to bring a child to this is almost 
the largest function of the family, and it can 
be gained nowhere else. But the family itself 



214 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

must, of course, be organized on this principle, 
and work on this method. 

2. Make such rules as are right in them- 
selves and best for the children. When I speak 
of rules, I do not mean that a code of regula- 
tions is to be kept before the household, and 
daily life turned into a drill ; — that should 
grow out of something very different; still 
there must be a wholesome consciousness of 
the laws. 

Some of the college presidents tell me that 
discipline is an easier thing in their colleges 
than it used to be, — the sense of honor, duty, 
and respect in the students, being higher, se- 
cures a truer collegiate life; but they have, 
nevertheless, a set of sound rules that are not 
only ready for use, but create an unfelt yet not 
unrealized atmosphere of authority. 

Two principles should enter into household 
laws ; they should be right in themselves, and 
they should be such as are best for the child. 
There are certain self-evident laws of the 
home : children must obey ; they must respect ; 
they must fall into the current of the house-life 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 215 

and thus secure its unity. We wonder at the 
strictness and severity of the Jewish code in 
this matter, — children who struck parents were 
to be put to death. The fearfulness of the 
penalty expressed the greatness of the offence. 
It sprang from no semi-barbarous superstition, 
nor was it a mere relic of the patriarchal sys- 
tem that combined the household and the civil 
government, but grew out of the profounder 
truth that the family stands for the divine or- 
der, — the father being as God to his household, 
and any resistance to him like a blow aimed 
at God himself. And this conception, though 
not this excessive rule, is in force still. Until 
the child can take in the great thought of God 
as a reigning father and mankind a family, the 
human parents and family fill their place. The 
life and discipline of the family is preparatory 
to, and of the same nature with, that of the 
world. Man is never outside of the family ; 
when he outgrows one, he steps into another, 
and one paves the way to the other. Obedi- 
ence to the laws of home is only a step that 
precedes obedience to the nation and to God. 
If parents do not teach and enforce one, the 



2l6 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

other will never follow. If your children do 
not obey your wise laws, if they do not respect 
your just wishes, if they do not trust your 
judgment and love, they will do none of these 
things to society and to God. You let your 
child disobey you, you suffer it to settle down 
into a steady disregard of your wishes ; but you 
are doing more, — you are passing it on to 
God, a disobedient and unmindful creature ; 
you are establishing it in the moral condition 
it will probably retain forever. You and I, 
who have reached adult years, understand very 
well that it is our chief business to obey the laws, 
civil, social, and moral. It is the great lesson 
of life, — to bring the lawlessness of the in- 
dividual will under the wise regulations of 
human society. Household obedience is not 
only a preparation for this, but an essential 
condition of it. If a child, is not taught to 
obey, it is forever after bruising itself against 
the barriers of society, or throwing itself over 
them into perdition. Jean Paul profoundly 
says that " it is in childhood that the divine 
is born of the human." 

Parents should also make such special rules 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 21J 

for children as are best for them ; that is, make 
the child's good the standard of requirement. 
If you do not wholly approve what the child 
desires, it should not be allowed. It is a 
wretched state of things when two wills, two 
opinions, two sets of feelings, prevail in a house- 
hold. It is hardly less wretched when, for the 
sake of peace, parental wills and wishes are 
weakly yielded, and the child takes up the 
reins of government. There is but one ques- 
tion to be considered, and that should never 
be thrust aside, — What is for the child's good? 
If it is well for children to read only light fic- 
tion ; if it is for their good to dance half the 
night ; if it is well for them to spend their 
evenings outside of the home, in saloons, at 
young clubs, in surrounding country hotels, 
and in the chance company they encounter 
there, — give these things your sanction, but 
do not weakly evade the difficult question 
on the score that young people must have a 
good time, that they must do what their set 
does, that they must run some risks, that they 
must learn to take care of themselves, that 
they will outgrow their follies. Let it be one 



2l8 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

thing or the other, — full indorsement or full 
prohibition. For the worst element of house- 
hold life is a double standard of conduct ; it is 
moral chaos, it is parental abdication, it is the 
reversal of the relation between parent and 
child. 

A strong, wise will is the foundation of a 
good home. It should be clothed with infinite 
tenderness and cheer, it need not be intrusive, 
it seldom need come to the surface, it need not 
use words of threat or command, it will seldom 
if ever use the rod, it may allow a large and 
generous liberty; but it must exist. It is a 
common testimony that there is more respect 
and affection in children for stern, wise parents 
than for weak and indulgent ones. There is 
a world of wisdom in the remark of a wilful 
but generous child to her strong and wise 
mother : " Mamma, if you were not an angel, 
I believe I should be terribly enraged ; but 
now I must love you, and I am almost con- 
tent." 

John Foster said : " It is a wretched plan 
that does not maintain authority as a necessary 
and habitual thing, in so uniform a manner 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 2I9 

that a child scarcely ever thinks of resistance 
any more than of thrusting its hand into the 
fire." And he adds that " acts of authority 
and correction should be done without bustle, 
in a short, calm, decisive manner." 

But while authority is the foundation of the 
home, as of the State, it is not the whole of 
it, and alone can do little. 

3. We should give time to our homes. It 
is one of the evil features of our American 
life that business is so ordered that little time 
is left for the household and for the church. 
The merchant, except in the large towns, keeps 
his store open from seven till nine o'clock ; the 
lawyer must always be in his office ; the physi- 
cian is subject to calls at all times ; our mill- 
people work ten hours ; our school-teachers 
are busy all day, and spend long evenings over 
endless examination papers and compositions,— 
the most wearying drudgery for eyes and brain 
imaginable ; and there is scarcely any other 
labor that does not require time beyond its 
regular hours. What time have we left for 
our homes and families ? Almost none ; and 



2 20 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

yet a true home is impossible without it. All 
I can say is, compass it if possible. When Dr. 
Guthrie, the great Scotch preacher, was called 
to Edinburgh, he resolved to spend his eve- 
nings with his family, and not in his study, as 
was customary with the other pastors of the 
city, — a bit of common-sense for which he is 
more to be respected than for his superb elo- 
quence. Sir Thomas More, the great states- 
man, said that it was hard work, with his public 
duties, to find time for private study, because 
" I must talk with my wife, and chat with my 
children, and have somewhat to say to my ser- 
vants ; for all these things I reckon as a part 
of my business, except a man will resolve to 
be a stranger at home." 

If the truth were known, it would be found 
that the homes from which float out these 
social wrecks all about us are mere eating and 
sleeping places. No time is devoted to the 
nurture of family life. The father and mother 
do not sit down with the children for a social 
chat and a hearty laugh, or perchance a romp. 
Children do not go to ruin from homes where 
these things are habitual ; it is such things that 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 221 

keep them from the associations that lead to 
ruin. 

4. Give your children an abundance of 
amusement, but, as far as possible, share it 
with them. They can hardly have too much if 
it is of the right sort, or too little if it is not. 
When it treads the borders of vice ; when it 
consists of mere excitement ; when it trenches 
upon hours due to sleep ; when it is a draught 
upon the nervous system, — better hard, un- 
broken toil, or sullen idleness, than such pleas- 
ure. But of fun, jollity, sport, there can hardly 
be too much. Alas, that any of us outgrow 
it ! And the worst of it is that w r e withhold it 
from our children in those ways and in that 
place where they should have the most of it, 
and drive them into the streets for it. I wish 
it were possible to get this matter fixed in the 
minds of parents upon rational principles. The 
happy life is one that begins in the atmosphere 
of constant, not occasional, enjoyment. The 
morning brings joy; the evening distils peace; 
every moment sends up the exhalation of joy. 
In a true, well-ordered home there is a con- 



222 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

stant pleasure. The simple exercise of the 
affections, — the loving and the being loved, — 
the mutual service and sympathy, bring to us 
about as much joy as we are capable of receiv- 
ing. It may be intensified by actual sports, by 
holidays, by occasional crowning experiences, 
like a journey, or some rare gift, or the tender 
gratification of some cherished scheme or de- 
sire of the child. Whatever is pure, .whatever 
leaves no stain, whatever is natural and health- 
ful, give in the fullest measure ; the divine 
bounty, that " giveth liberally and upbraideth 
not," is our pattern here. But it is a matter to 
be considered, — secured if it is lacking, and 
regulated if it is not wise, as food and dress are 
regulated. 

We do not often enough think of the far- 
reaching effect of a happy childhood. Scarcely 
any influence follows us up into maturity that 
is so strong and moulding as the recollection 
of such a childhood. It is not merely a de- 
light that the memory fondly broods over, but 
it is the chain — light as gossamer, but strong 
as adamant — that binds us to the virtue and 
innocence of those early days. There is no 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 223 

other stream that will bear on into manhood 
and womanhood the teachings of childhood 
and all the sacred powers of the home, but one 
that flows out of household happiness. I verily 
think it is the key of destiny. Make a child 
wisely, deeply, and continuously happy, and 
you have done the best thing for it possible. 
Trained and educated it needs to be ; but the 
memory of its early happiness will bind it to 
whatever of virtue and goodness and wisdom 
are in you and your teachings. But no teach- 
ing, no example, will preserve its power unless 
united to happy memories. Gloom and unhap- 
piness nullify and pervert all good influences 
with which they come in contact. Alas for 
the children that have no such memories, who 
hear but scolding and reproof and quarrelling ; 
whose caresses are blows, and whose lullabies 
are mingled with curses ! What wonder that 
a soft place cannot be found in their hearts for 
any seed of good, and that they grow up crimi- 
nals and profligates ? 

5. Have as good a home externally as you 
can provide. This is not saying, have a costly 



2 24 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

home. The least necessary element in comfort 
and cheer is money. Something of this is 
needed ; but cleanliness, taste, observation, and 
a cheery spirit will do more. Costly furniture, 
soft carpets, broad mirrors, and light-hiding 
draperies have little to do with making a home 
attractive, and even with making it comfortable. 
There is nothing that furnishes so beautifully 
and wisely as books and pictures ; no light is 
so sweet as that reflected from flowers ; no car- 
pet is so beautiful as a cleanly floor ; no chairs 
are so adorning as those that are simply com- 
fortable. Parents often say, " If I were in 
better circumstances I would have a more at- 
tractive home for my friends ; " but it were bet- 
ter to dismiss the thought of friends, and think 
of making home so pleasant and cheery, so 
well furnished with books, so adorned with 
pictures, so sweetly home-like, in short, that it 
w T ould seem to children the best place on earth. 
I once stood in the room at Marshfield used 
by the young children of Daniel Webster; its 
walls were literally covered with pictures, — not 
costly, but pleasing and instructive. The great 
man well knew w T hat he was doing in thus 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 225 

adorning the walls of his children's room. He 
himself drew the sweetest pleasures of his life 
from the memories of his early days ; they add 
an indescribable grace and pathos to the later 
years of his life, and he strove to pass on the 
heritage. 

6. Cultivate an intense oneness and intimacy 

in the family. There is some fearfully wrong 

influence at work in a household where there 

is distance and shyness between children and 

parents. It is a sad thing when a daughter has 

any confidant more trusted than her mother or 

— according to Mr. Ruskin — father, or a son 

than one or both of his parents. Yet it is a 

condition very apt to come about unless a habit 

of intimacy be cultivated. From the first, 

share in their thoughts and feelings, and in any 

sorrow or anxiety have the readiest sympathy. ! 

Children have their griefs ; young persons their 

disappointments, their moods of unaccountable 

gloom ; they suffer far more than we who have 

learned to endure, and have attained to faith 

and " the philosophic calm," or perhaps have 

been dulled by years. The occasion of grief 

15 



226 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

is no measure of its greatness or reality. The 
child who comes to you in tears over a broken 
toy or a disappointed holiday is suffering more 
than your neighbor who has lost half his fortune, 
and is in more need of comfort and sympathy. 
Know what your boy is thinking about, what he 
talks of with his companions, what are his tastes 
and aversions, what books he reads, where he 
spends his time, what is the character of his 
associates. Unless you know these things, 
he will drift away, and come under stronger 
influences than yours. There is nothing so 
much to be dreaded in a child as a premature 
individualism. It is God's plan that we should 
go through the world as families, — a phalanx 
of love firmly linked together, staying each 
other when we falter, and together breasting 
the storms of life. The dangerous period is 
that transitional one when we are " rounding 
into self," — the period between the family into 
which we were born to that formed by marriage. 
It is the stage of external individuality, and 
hence of moral weakness. To render it safe, 
it should be bridged by the influence of the 
first — sweet and intimate and tender — reach- 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 227 

ing over to the second, in which responsibility 
and new affections confirm all that has gone 
before. 

7. But, in order that family influence may be 
strongest, it must be deeply and directly Chris- 
tian. All that I have urged is indeed Christian, 
but no aggregate of good qualities fills out that 
word, — it implies also a specific thing. I have 
no faith in, nor hope of, any training that is 
not Christian. You have no holding ground 
till your anchor is dropped in the cleft of that 
rock. There is no seed that is surely vital but 
that of Christian truth. There is no soil 
pledged to yield a harvest but the conscience, 
sown with this seed, watered by prayer and by 
all that prayer means, and refreshed by heav- 
enly dews. There is no remembrance that so 
stays and grows as that of the teachings of 
Christian morality in the household ; it literally 
grows. Other influences weaken ; but this 
takes on more meaning, and becomes more 
and more rational and practical under the ex- 
perience of life, because it was shaped and di- 
rected under the teaching of love, and love 



2 28 HOME AND CHARACTER. 

seldom mistakes. Its tenderness takes on an 
unspeakable, ever-growing pathos. It melts 
and subdues, and how often, at last, does it 
conquer and win ! 

Jean Paul, who has penetrated more deeply 
into the child nature than any other save Him 
who made it the type of His heavenly kingdom, 
says in his "Levana:" " The fruits of right 
[moral] training cannot be at once harvested, 
and you will often wonder that after doing so 
much, so much yet remains to be done ; but in 
after years the results of your labors will richly 
appear, for that which is planted must first 
germinate and break through its rude coverings 
before it can rise to rejoice in the sunlight and, 
in turn, bear fruit." The sudden and absolute 
conversion of great sinners, which is often 
called a miracle of grace, has usually been pre- 
ceded by a piously taught childhood, — a 
mothers love, mixed with divine love, brooded 
over the young heart, sang to it in sacred 
measures, taught it some words of simple 
prayer, held it to her own heart while it beat 
with yearning devotion, breathed into it a spirit 
of truth and reverence, and so sent it out into 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 229 

the stormy, overmastering world of temptation. 
Such seed never perishes, for it is eternal in its 
quality. When it comes to fruit, we call it a 
miracle of grace, and so it is ; but it is the gra- 
cious miracle of seed long buried, and bursting 
into growth when some convulsion has thrown 
it to the surface, where it feels the divine light 
and warmth. 

And not only is the religious feature of the 
home the most powerful and lasting, but it is the 
sweetest to remember. Talk with the New- 
England-born man in New York or Chicago of 
his boyhood, — he may be far enough from any 
religious feeling himself, but he will tell you in 
some confidential moment, w r ith a pleased, half- 
reverent voice, that he was brought up to go 
to church, that his mother prayed by his bed- 
side, that he recollects his father's prayers more 
distinctly than anything else, — even to the 
very words and tones, how carefully he was re- 
quired to observe the Sabbath, and how strictly 
taught in all matters of religion, and how it 
seemed to be the main thing with the house- 
hold. A little hard and over strict it may have 



23O HOME AND CHARACTER. 

been ; but he will tell you that it was all wise 
and wholesome, and that whatever of good 
there is in him is due to such a training. 

There is no obligation due to posterity so im- 
perative as that of giving it a Christian train- 
ing, and there is no debt of gratitude so deeply 
felt — felt with tears and with ever-growing 
intensity — as that which follows such training. 
For all else passes away with the passing world, 
all else the moth and rust of time doth corrupt ; 
but this abides, — treasure laid up in the heaven 
of the spirit and in the heaven to which it con- 
ducts. When Luther's babe was brought to 
him by its nurse, his blessing was : " Go thy 
way and be good. Money I shall not bequeath 
thee; but I shall leave thee a rich God, who 
will not forsake thee." 

8. I say, in conclusion : Cherish the home 
with an infinite tenderness. You cannot love 
it too much, nor give it too much time and 
thought. Remember that life has nothing bet- 
ter to offer you ; it is the climax and crown of 
God's gifts. Make every day of life in it rich 
and sweet. It will not last long. See to it 



HOME AND CHARACTER. 23 I 

that you plant no seeds of bitter memory, that 
there be no neglect, no harshness, to haunt you 
in after years. Your little ones will die, and go 
hence with only your words and spirit planted 
in their eternal nature. Sons and daughters 
will go from you into the great world to live 
as you have taught them, — strong or weak 
according to the spirit you have engrafted 
upon them. How will you yearn for them, 
living or dead ! How r sweet or how bitter will 
be the memory of the days when they prattled 
about you ! 



THE END. 



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gilt top, $3.00. 

I confess that to Feuerbach I owe a debt of inestimable gratitude. 
Feeling about in uncertainty for the ground, and finding everywhere 
shifting sands, Feuerbach cast a sudden blaze into the darkness, and 
disclosed to me the way. — S. Baring-Gould, in The Origin and 
Development of Religious Belief. 

Washington Gladden. 

The Lord's Prayer. Seven Essays on the Meaning and 
Spirit of this universal Prayer. 16mo, gilt top, §1.00. 
Often as we offer this prayer, and much as we have studied over it 
to give proper expositions of it from the pulpit and in the catechism, 
we shall henceforth pray it more intelligently than we ever have be- 
fore ; nay, we have learned, we think, to pray better in all our sup- 
plications, and to comprehend more in them than has been our wont. 
— Lutheran Quarterly (Philadelphia). 



Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 5 

R. P. Hallowell 

The Quaker Invasion op Massachusetts. Third Edi- 
tion. 16mo, SI. 25. 
A history of the persecution of the Quakers in Massachusetts. 

Heinrich Heine. 

Philosophy and Religion in Germany. Translated 
from the German by John Snodgrass, Jr. 8vo, gilt top, S3. 00. 

Thomas Hughes. 
The Manliness of Christ. 16mo, SI. 00; paper covers, 

25 cents. 

It is shown with great force that the " Life of Christ " was not only 
a manly life, but the manly life of all history. — Examiner and Chron- 
icle (New York). 

Hymns of the Ages. 

Hymns of the Ages. First, Second, and Third Series. 

Each in one volume, illustrated with steel vignettes, after Turner-. 

12mo, SI. 50 each; half calf, S9.00 a set. 

They date all the way from the sixth century to to-day. But. old- 
est and newest, they deal with that which is older than the ancientest, 
and newer than the latest of them. And this is the ground of their 
excellence, and of the esteem in which they are held, — that worthily 
and sincerely they deal with that truth in souls whose infinite variety 
age cannot wither and custom cannot stale, and with which every 
heart, as it is pure, finds itself at home in a dear and sacred kinship. 
— Christian Examiner. 

Henry James. 

The Secret of Stuedenborg. Being an Elucidation of 
his Doctrine of the Divine Natural Humanity. 8vo, S2.50. 
We admire the metaphysical acuteness, the logical power, and the 
singular literary force of the book, which is also remarkable as car- 
rying into theological writing something besides the hard words of 
secular dispute, and as presenting to the world the great questions 
of theology in something beside a Sabbath-day dress. — Atlantic 
Monthly. 

Society the Redeemed Form of Man, and the Ear- 
nest of God's Omnipotence in Human Nature. Affirmed in 
Letters to a Friend. Crown 8vo, 82. 00. 

Samuel Johnson. 

Oriental Religions, and their Relation to Univer' 

sal Religion. By Samuel Johnson. 
India. 8vo, 802 pages, $5.00 ; half calf, $8.00. 



6 Religious Publications of 

Samuel Johnson's remarkable work is devoted wholly to the relig- 
ions and civilization of India; is the result of twenty years' study 
and reflection by one of the soundest scholars and most acute think- 
ers of New England, and must be treated with all respect, whether 
we consider its thoroughness, its logical reasoning, or the conclusion, 
unacceptable to the majority, no doubt, at which it arrives. — Repub- 
lican (Springfield). 

China. 8vo, 1000 pages, $5.00 ; half calf, $8.00. 

Altogether the work of Mr. Johnson is an extraordinarily rich 
mine of reliable and far-reaching information on all literary subjects 
connected with China. . . . He decidedly impresses us as an author- 
ity on Chinese subjects. — E. J. Eitel, Ph. D., Editor of The China 
Review (Hong Kong). 

Persia. 8vo. {In Press.) 

Lectures, Essays, and Sermons. With a portrait and 

Memoir by Rev. Samuel Longfellow. Crown 8vo, gilt top, 

$1.75. 

This volume contains, in addition to a Memoir of Mr. Johnson and 
other articles, Sermons on the Law of the Blessed Life, Gain in Loss, 
The Search. for God, Fate, Living by Faith, The Duty of Delight, 
and Transcendentalism. 

Thomas Starr King. 

Christianity and Humanity. Sermons. Edited, with 
a Memoir, by Edwin P. Whipple. Fine steel portrait, 16mo, 
$2.00. 

The Koran. 

Selections from the Koran. By Edward William 
Lane. Second Edition, revised and enlarged, with an introduction 
by Stanley Lane Poole. 8vo, gilt top, $3.50. 
See Wherry (Rev. E. M.). 

Alvan Lamson, D. D. 

The Church of the First Three Centuries ; or, No- 
tices of the Lives and Opinions of the Early Fathers, with special 
reference to the Doctrine of the Trinity ; illustrating its late origin 
and gradual formation. Revised and enlarged edition. 8vo, $2.50. 

Lucy Larcom. 

Breathings of the Better Life. " Little Classic " 

style. 18mo, $1.25 ; half calf, $3.00. 

A book of choice selections from the best religious writers of all 
times. 

Henry C. Lea. 

Sacerdotal Celibacy in the Christian Church. 
Second Edition, considerably enlarged. 8vo, $4.50. 



Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 7 

One of the most valuable works that America has produced. Since 
the great history of Dean Milman, I know no work in English which 
has thrown more light on the moral condition of the Middle Ages, 
and none which is more fitted to dispel the gross illusions concerning 
that period which Positive writers and writers of a certain ecclesiasti- 
cal school have conspired to sustain. — W. E. H. Leckt, in History 
of European Morals. 

Samuel Longfellow and Samuel Johnson. 

Hymns of the Spirit. 16mo, roan, $1.25. 
A collection of remarkable excellence. 

W. A. McVickar, D. D. 

Life of the Rev. John McVickar, S. T. D. With por- 
trait. Crown 8vo, $2.00. 

William Mountford. 

Euthanasy; or, Happy Talk towards the End of Life. 

New Edition, 12mo, gilt top, $2.00. 

Rev. T. Mozley. 

Reminiscences, chiefly of Oriel College and the Oxford 

Movement. 2 vols. 16mo, $3.00 ; half calf, $6.00. 

Many before now — Oakley, Froude, Kennard, not to mention 
Newman himself — have contributed to the story of the Tractarian 
Movement. None of these, not even the famous Apologia, will com- 
pare with the volumes now before us in respect to minute fullness, 
close personal observation, and characteristic touches. — Prof. Pat- 
tison, in The Academy (London). 

Elisha Mulford, LL. D. 
The Republic of God. 8vo, $2.00. 

A book which will not be mastered by hasty reading, nor by a cool, 
scientific dissection. We do not remember that this country has 
lately produced a speculative work of more originality and force. . . . 
The book is a noble one — broad-minded, deep, breathing forth an 
ever-present consciousness of things unseen. It is a mental and moral 
tonic which might do us all good. — The Critic (New York). 

No book on the statement of the great truths of Christianity at 
once so fresh, so clear, so fundamental, and so fully grasping and 
solving the religious problems of our time, has yet been written by 
any American. — Advertiser (Boston). 

It is the most important contribution to theological literature thus 
far made by any American writer. — The Churchman (New York). 

Rev. T. T. Munger. 

On the Threshold. Familiar Lectures to Young Peo- 
ple, on Purpose, Friends, and Companions, Manners, Thrift, Self- 



8 Religious Publications of 

Reliance and Courage, Health, Reading and Intellectual Life, 
Amusements, and Faith. 16mo, gilt top, $1.00. 
It is sensible, earnest, candid, and discriminating, and, withal, thor- 
oughly interesting. — The Congregationalist (Boston). 

The Freedom of Faith. Sermons. 16mo, SI. 50. 

Contents : Prefatory Essay : The New Theology ; On Reception 
of New Truth; God our Shield; God our Reward; Love to the 
Christ as a Person; The Christ's Pity; The Christ as a Preacher ; 
Land-Tenure; Moral Environment; Immortality and Science; Im- 
mortality and Nature ; Immortality as Taught by the Christ ; The 
Christ's Treatment of Death ; The Resurrection from the Dead; 
The Method of Penalty ; Judgment ; Life a Gain ; Things to be 
Awaited. 

Mr. Munger's book is the most forcible and positive expression of 
the beliefs which are now in process of formation that has appeared 
in this country. . . . They are as refreshing in the darkness of pres- 
ent unbelief as the clear shining of the sun after days of rain and fog 
and discouraging sky. — Times (New York). 

J. A. W. Neander. 

General History of the Christian Religion and 
Church. Translated from the German by Rev. Joseph Torrey, 
Professor in the University of Vermont. With an Index volume. 
The set, with Index, 6 vols., 620.00. Index volume, separate, S3. 00. 
"Neander's Church History" is one of the most profound, care- 
fully considered, deeply philosophized, candid, truly liberal, and in- 
dependent historical works that have ever been written. In all these 
respects it stands head and shoulders above almost any other church 
history in existence. — Professor Calvin E. Stowe, Andover, Mass. 

Illustrated New Testament. 

The New Testament of our Lord and Saviour 
Jesus Christ. With engravings on wood from designs of Fra 
Angelico, Pietro Perugino, Francesco Francia, Lorenzo di Credi, 
Fra Bartolommeo, Titian, Raphael, Gaudenzio Ferrari, Daniel di 
Volterra, and others. Royal 4to, full gilt, 540 pages, $10.00 ; full 
morocco, $20.00; full levant, extra, $25.00. 

This elegant and sumptuous edition of the New Testament is ad- 
mirably suited for a gift to a pastor or friend. The King James ver- 
sion of the text is the one used. 

Blaise Pascal. 

Thoughts, Letters, and Opuscules. Translated from 
the French by O. W. Wight, A. M., with Introductory Notices 
and Notes. 12mo, $2.25. 

Provincial Letters. A new Translation, with Histori- 
cal Introduction and Notes by Rev. Thomas McCrie, preceded 
by a Life of Pascal, a Critical Essay, and a Biographical Notice 
12mo, $2.25 ; the set, 2 vols, half calf, $8.00. 



Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 9 

Peep of Day Series. 

Peep of Day Series. Comprising " The Peep of Day," 
"Precept upon Precept," and "Line upon Line." 3 vols. 16mo, 
each 50 cents ; the set, SI. 50. 

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 
The Gates Ajar. 16mo, §1.50. 

Of all the books which we ever read, calculated to shed light upon 
the utter darkness of sudden sorrow, and to bring pe^ce to the be- 
reaved and solitary, we give, in many important respects, the prefer- 
ence to '* The Gates Ajar." — The Congregationalist (Boston). 

Beyond the Gates. Twentieth Thousand. 16mo, $1.25, 
The effect of the book is to make this life better worth living, and 
the next life better worth desiring. The author's conceptions of 
heaven are wholly pure and lofty, yet warm with human love and in- 
terest. They touch the deepest yearnings of the soul, and serve to 
strengthen faith and quicken aspiration. — Journal (Boston). 

Prayers of the Ages. 

Prayers of the Ages. Compiled by Caroline S. 

Whitmarsh, one of the editors of " Hymns of the Ages/' 12mo, 

$1.50. 

I have long wished for something of the kind, a broad, liberal, 
catholic presentation of what must be regarded as the flower of the 
world's piety and devotion. The " Hymns of the Ages " are favor- 
ite volumes with me, and I have comforted the sick and sorrowing 
with them. But this last volume, it seems to me, I shall value high- 
est. — John G. Whittier. 

George Putnam, D. D. 

Sermons by George Putnam, D. D., late Pastor of the 

First Religious Society in Roxbury, Massachusetts. With fine 
steel portrait. 16mo, gilt top, $1.75. 

Rev. James Reed. 

SWEDENBORG AND THE NEW CHURCH. 16mO, $1.25. 

E. Reuss. 
History of the New Testament Writings. (In Press.) 

Edward Robinson, D. D., LL. D. 

Harmony of the Four Gospels, in Greek. 8vo, $1.50. 

The Same, in English, 12mo, 75 cents. 

Biblical Researches in Palestine. 3 vols. 8vo, with 
maps, $10.00. Price of the maps alone, $1.00. 



10 Religious Publications of 

Dean Stanley said of these volumes : " They are amongst the very 
few books of modern literature of which I can truly say that I have 
read every word. I have read them under circumstances which riv- 
eted my attention upon them while riding on the back of a camel ; 
while traveling on horseback through the hills of Palestine; under 
the shadow of my tent, when I came in weary from the day's journey. 
These were the scenes .in which I first became acquainted with the 
work of Dr. Robinson. But to that work I have felt that I and all 
students of Biblical literature owe a debt that can never be effaced. " 

Physical Geography of the Holy Land. A Supple- 
ment to " Biblical Researches in Palestine." 8vo, S3. 50. 
A capital summary of our present knowledge. — London Athenceum. 

Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, 
including the Biblical Chaldee. From the Latin of William Ge- 
senius, by Edward Robinson. Twenty-second Edition. 8vo, 
half russia, $6.00. 

Gesenius is indispensable. No one has yet arisen who, with the 
same comprehensive mastery of the lexical material, can lay claim to 
the uniform sobriety of philological judgment and the all but abso- 
lute freedom from bondage to the trammels of theory which charac- 
terize Gesenius. He is still the " prince of Hebrew lexicographers." 
— Professor P. H. Steenstra, Cambridge Episcopal Theological 
School. 

English-Hebrew Lexicon: Being a complete Verbal 
Index to Genesius' Hebrew Lexicon as translated by Robinson. 
By Joseph Lewis Potter, A. M. 8vo, $2.00. 

Rev. Thomas Scott. 

The Bible, with Explanatory Notes, Practical 
Observations, and Copious Marginal References. By 
Rev. Thomas Scott. 6 vols, royal 8vo, sheep, $15.00. 
I believe it exhibits more of the mind of the Spirit in the Scriptures 

than any other work of the kind extant. — Rev. Andrew Fuller. 

J. C. Shairp. 
Culture and Eeligion in some of their Relations. 

16mo, gilt top, $1.25. 

As an antidote to the doubt which disturbs the minds of many 
Christian scholars, we know of nothing so wholesome and comforting 
as this little book. The spirit of the book is one of the utmost rever- 
ence, yet of unflinching courage. — The Independent (Xew York). 

William Smith. 

Dictionary of the Bible, comprising its Antiquities, 
Biography, Geography, and Natural History. By William 
Smith. Edited by Professor Horatio Balch Hackett and 
Ezra Abbot, LL. P. In four volumes, 8vo, 3667 pages, with 



Houghton, Mifflin & Co. n 

596 illustrations. Cloth, beveled edges, strongly bound, $20.00 ; 

full sheep, 525,00; half morocco, 830,00; half calf, extra, S30.00; 

half russia, $35.00 ; full morocco, gilt, 540.00 ; tree calf. $45.00. 

There are several American editions of Smith's Dictionary of the 
Bible, but this edition comprises not only the contents of the original 
English edition, unabridged, but very considerable and important 
additions by the editors, Professors Hackett and Abbot, and twenty- 
six other eminent American scholars. 

This edition has 500 more pages than the English, and 100 more 
illustrations; more than a thousand errors of reference in the Eng- 
lish edition are corrected in this ; and an Index of Scripture Illus- 
trated is added. 

No similar work in our own or in any other language is for a mo- 
ment to be compared with it. — Quarterly Review (London). 

Robert South, D. D. 
Sermons Preached upon Several Occasions. "With 

a Memoir of the author. 5 vols. 8vo, $15.00. 

AVe doubt if, in the single quality of freshness and force of expres- 
sion, of rapid and rushing life, any writer of English prose, from 
Milton to Burke, equaled South. — E. P. Whipple, in North Ameri- 
can Review. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
Religious Poems. Illustrated. 16mo, 31.50. 

Henry Thornton. 

Family Prayers, and Prayers on the Ten Command- 
ments, with a Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, etc. 
By Henry Thornton. Edited by the late Bishop Eastburn, of 
Massachusetts. 1 2 mo, SI .50. 
Probably no published volume of family prayers has ever been the 

vehicle of so much heart-felt devotion as these. They are what 

prayers should be — fervent, and yet perfectly simple. — Christian 

Witness. 

Professor C. P. Tiele. 

Outlines of the History of Religion to the Spread 
of the Universal Religions. 8vo, gilt top, S2.50. 

History of the Egyptian Religion. Translated from 
the Dutch, with the cooperation of the author, by James Ballin- 
gal. 8vo, gilt top, S3. 00. 

Jones Very. 

Poems. With a Memoir by William P. Andrews. 

16mo, gilt top, $1.50. 

Poems unique in their quality among American poetry, alike for 
their spiritual intensity and their absolute sincerity. — Charles 
Eliot Noeton. 



12 Religious Publications, 

E. M. Wherry. 

A Comprehensive Commentary on the Quran : Com- 
prising Sale's Translation and Preliminary Discourse, with addi- 
tional Notes and Emendations. Together with a complete Index 
to the Text, Preliminary Discourse and Notes. 2 vols. 8vo, gilt 
top, each $4.50. 

James M. Whiton. 
The Gospel of the Resurrection. 16mo, gilt top, 

$1.25. 

A thoughtful and reverent study of one of the fundamental doc- 
trines of Christianity. To those who are capable of rightly appre- 
hending the spiritual conceptions which Dr. Whiton embodies in this 
volume, they will serve to clear away many mistaken and material 
ideas, and will help to make the sublime and inspiring truth of a life 
beyond the grave more intensely and vitally real. — Journal (Boston). 

John Woolman. 

The Journal of John Woolman. With an Introduc- 
tion by John G. Whittier. 16mo, SI. 50. 

A perfect gem. He is a beautiful soul. An illiterate tailor, he 
writes in a style of the most exquisite purity and grace. His moral 
qualities are transferred to his writings. His religion is love. His 
Christianity is most inviting : it is fascinating. — H. Crabb Robin- 
son, in his Diary. 

N. B. A Catalogue of all the publications of Houghton, Mifflin 
& Co., containing portraits of many distinguished authors, will be sent to 
any address on application. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston, Mass. 

11 East Seventeenth Street, New York. 



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